


The Alternate End

by 16woodsequ



Series: Alternative Timeline [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon Temporary Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Thanos is a dick, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 88,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27711224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/16woodsequ/pseuds/16woodsequ
Summary: After seeing his time-traveling self in 2012, Tony has been busy trying to deal with the implications of it, be it hunting down Hydra with Steve, or keeping a close eye on the Accords and Ross.But a new threat makes itself known—one he isn't prepared for—and it goes by the name of Thanos.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: Alternative Timeline [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581769
Comments: 219
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the fourth part in a series that starts with the story “Alternatively”. If you haven’t read them, what you need to know is: This is set in the Alternate 2012 Timeline, and Steve and Tony notice the time-traveling 2023!Steve and Tony. They learn about Hydra and eventually rescue Bucky.
> 
> The Accords happened and everyone made the same signing choices, but didn’t fight. Age of Ultron did not happen, because they gave the sceptre to Thor early, so Wanda and Vision are not here, but Bruce is. They also learn about Scott Lang early, and are friends with him. 
> 
> I am excited to share what happens in this universe for Infinity War/Endgame! I have 10 chapters written (I am estimating 20 chapters(?)), so I am hoping to be able to update consistently every Wednesday!

**Prologue**

**April 23, 2018**

Things are always strange at the Sanctum Sanctorum. But, to be honest, by this point Stephen Strange is used to – well – strange. It is one of the side-effects of becoming a Master of the Mystic Arts. You start to expect the unexpected.

To be honest though, he hadn't really been expecting this.

All he really had been expecting to do today is to go out and get lunch.

“Seriously?” he says, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he makes his way down the sweeping front staircase of the Sanctum. “You don’t have _any_ money?”

Wong follows him down a few steps behind, seemingly unconcerned. “Attachment to the material is detachment from the spiritual,” he says righteously, and Stephen can’t help a wry smile.

“I’ll tell the guys at the deli,” he says as he continues downwards. “Maybe they’ll make you a metaphysical ham on rye.”

His smile grows as Wong instantly flips on his stance and manages to scrounge up some bills, even if they only total up to about a dollar and a half in American dollars.

“What do you want?” he asks, as he reaches the bottom of the staircase.

“I wouldn’t say no to a tuna melt,” Wong says.

As it turns out, neither of them are going to be getting any sandwiches anytime soon. Almost as soon as the words are out of the others man’s mouth, a bright, multi-coloured light bursts in through the ceiling, sending both of them into half-crouched defensive stances as it smashes down through the staircase in a ear-splitting shower of splinters and dust.

He shares a look with Wong, and It only takes half-a-second before he is in his mystic clothes again, Cloak wrapping around his shoulders as he and Wong edge their way back up the stairs, both of them with their arms out and ready as they creep closer to the newly formed hole.

He doesn’t know what he is expecting when he leans his head over the edge to look down, but a screaming woman dressed in white and wielding a large pointy sceptre as she jumps out at him, is definitely _not_ _it_.

His arms flail as he rears back in surprise and ducks out of the way, the golden staff sweeping just over where his head had been.

“Get back!” the woman cries, her long black hair whipping around her face as she swings between him and Wong, her jaw clenched, and her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Cloak takes the initiative and pulls him back out of range, and he takes the opportunity to pull up a defense shield, the orange sigils rotating in the air in front of his hands as he stares down at the woman, their attacker standing on the edge of the crater and watching them warily, the staff clutched tight in her hands.

“Who are you?” Wong calls, stumbling back and crouching into his own protective stance, protective sigils up and ready, should the woman feel any more homicidal tendencies.

The woman shifts her stance slightly, her knees bent and ready as she looks at them, her steady grip on the sceptre giving Stephen no doubt of her abilities with the weapon. “How about you answer my question first,” she gets out, her voice hard as her eyes dart between the two of them. “Where am I?”

Stephen shares a glance with Wong, and he lets Cloak drift him a little closer to the woman — while still remaining out of range. If the woman doesn’t know where she is, then it is possible she is attacking them out of self-defence, rather than because she actually wants to kill them.

Not that he is going to be taking any chances just yet though.

“You are on Earth,” he tells her, calling her gaze over to him. “Where are you from? How did you get here?”

The woman stares at him for a moment, before relaxing slightly, her shoulders dropping as she straightens. “Earth,” she repeats, not answering his questions. Her eyes flick thoughtfully between him and Wong again for a second before she raises her chin and straightens fully. “That’s where Thor was taking us,” she says, twirling the staff and planting it down by her feet. “Do you know him? Are you what he calls the Avengers?”

Stephen casts a glance over at Wong and drops his hands, his shield dissipating as he looks back at the woman. “I think we’re going to have to call someone in,” he says.

oOo

Tony should have probably known that today was going to be a weird day.

To be fair, it hadn’t started _off_ that way. Today had actually been a really _good_ day. Today he had finally managed to get Bruce to come meet him in New York so that he can show off his new suit.

Recently, the man has been more or less completely focused on his _own_ project with the Hulk, which is fine, but Tony has _finally_ managed to get his nano-suit technology working the way he likes it, and there is no _way_ he isn’t taking the opportunity to show it off a little to his fellow science buddy, and, of course, Pepper.

“Are you sure you want to do it here?” Pepper asks as the trio make their way through the downtown park. “Isn’t it a little busy?”

Tony shrugs his shoulder, the familiar-but-foreign feel of tech sitting on his chest giving him a thrill. “It’s fine,” he says, tapping the nano-unit attached to his bodysuit. “People like a show, and besides, you want to get back by the end of your lunch break, right?”

Pepper’s mouth twitches up in an amused smile, and Tony finds his eyes drifting down to the ring on her left hand. His own smile grows on his face, and he rubs his hands together, excitement rising up in his chest.

He and Pepper are getting married.

The thought still fills him with an awed sort of amazement whenever he thinks about it too much, and he can’t help letting his mouth wander as he leads his _fiancée_ and Bruce further in to the center of the park. “Okay, so you know Cassie, right?” he says, his hands waving as he looks back at Pepper.

Pepper’s mouth presses up at his excited gait and she raises an eyebrow at him. “You mean Scott’s daughter?” she says. “The Cassie who comes to the compound and I’ve met nearly a dozen times?”

Tony grins and snaps a finger at her. “That’s the one. Cute kid. Comes for playdates with our resident super soldiers. Anyway. So I’m pretty sure I had a premonition with her last night.”

Both Pepper and Bruce watch him with amused expressions and Tony waves a hand. “See, I had a dream, but, you know those dreams where, it just feels so real, and then you wake up, and you could _swear_ it had really happened?”

Pepper darts forward a few steps and catches his waving hand in her own, her thumb brushing over his own wedding band (he had insisted on taking Pepper shopping for his _own_ engagement ring after he had proposed to her). “And you had one of those with Cassie?” she says, her eyes twinkling as she looks up at him.

He grins back at her. “Right, except it wasn’t just her. You and me were there, and _we_ had a kid.” He pauses suddenly in his step and turns to look at Pepper. “It was so real,” he says, looking at her. “We named him after your eccentric uncle,” he blinks, trying to remember the threads of the dream. “What was his name?”

Pepper laughs slightly and nods at him, and he clutches at her hand. “Morgan!” he remembers suddenly. “That’s what it was. We had a kid, named Morgan, and he had the most eclectic godparents anyone could ever ask for.”

Pepper laughs again and he hears Bruce chuckle as well, calling his attention over to where he is standing a few feet away. “Any kid of yours would certainly have an interesting upbringing,” he says, shaking his head. “Do you think Steve and Bucky would take him with them on their trips to Wakanda?”

Tony huffs and continues walking again. “If they do, they better bring me along _too,_ ” he says, with pretend indignation. “You know, I’d show them my suit too today, but of course they’ve gotta be off on one of their vacations. When they get back, I’m going to blow their _minds_.”

The thought of Steve and Bucky in Wakanda makes him smile. Ever since the two of them had first sheltered there a few years ago, they had been going back regularly, even if they mostly choose to live in the Avengers compound like usual. It is clear that the trips are a good getaway for them, and they never stay for too long, but it goes without saying that the Avengers are pretty welcome in Wakanda.

He can’t help being a little jealous of their frequent trips though. Wakanda had opened it’s borders a little bit, now that T’Challa is on the throne, but he has only had the chance to see the more or less _heaven-on-Earth_ -for-engineers a few times, thanks to his duties to the Avengers and the Accords.

Ugh. The Accords. He is working on those. But they are still a mess.

So far, the States have failed to ratify them, so that helps, but they are still a slew of human rights violations that he is trying to untangle. (One plus, is that his investigations into the Accords have knocked Thaddeus Ross down a few pegs. He has yet to find any _actual_ Hydra connections, but the man has a shady enough past that the people he knows _are_ connected to Hydra, which is suspicious enough to raise a few red flags.)

He still has to deal with the man too often though, and he may or may not become extra passive aggressive every time Ross prevents him from going over to play in Wakandan laboratories. (He is pretty sure, on some level, that Ross wishes he hadn't signed the Accords, if only because he is _really good_ at making his life difficult.)

He would like to do more than keep Ross on a short leash, but given how deeply entrenched Hydra is in the system by now, it is difficult to come up with something concrete to dig them up with. Even if Ross _isn’t_ connected to Hydra at all, he certainly helps them move along with their agenda, so they have a vested interest in keeping him around.

Which leaves him to come along afterwards and slowly tear the Accords apart, piece by piece. 

All in all, he is rather busy most of the time, what with all the hoop-jumping and political intrigue, so his own projects are taking longer, but, he has _finally_ had time to complete the last finishing touches on his nano-suit – inspired by the nano-suit he had seen his future-self using all those years ago – and he can finally show it off a little.

“When will those two be coming back?” Bruce asks, referencing Steve and Bucky again as he follows them to a relatively deserted patch of green.

“Not long,” he replies as he drops Pepper’s hand and swings his arms out in a stretch. “I think Steve has some speaking things lined up for V.E. day this year, so, before then.”

Bruce nods and Tony takes a step away to prepare himself for the demonstration. “Okay,” he says, flashing a grin at both Pepper and Bruce, his heart beginning to speed up with excitement. “So, in the accumulation of hours and hours in the lab — all patiently endured by Pepper, thank you – _and_ intercut by regular periods of eating and sleeping—”

Both Pepper and Bruce are grinning at his antics at this point, and he can’t help smiling back at them. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, raising his hands. “Let me present—”

He cuts off as a weird sort of buzzing erupts behind him, and he turns his head to see a large glowing circle of orange energy form in the air behind him. He stares mutely as the light dissipates to reveal what he could _swear_ is some kind of doorway to _somewhere_ else, before a man dressed in a sweeping red cloak steps out.

It takes him a second to recognise him, but the man’s slight expression of superiority is familiar, and his brain takes the chance to remind him that his (and Bucky’s) surgeon had dropped off the map a little while ago after some kind of car accident.

Apparently this is what he is doing now.

He shouldn’t even be surprised anymore.

“Tony Stark,” the man says, his cloak blowing around him as he steps closer. “I’m Doctor Stephen Strange. I need you to come with me.” His eyes flick over him and Pepper for a second and a shade of awkwardness slips onto his face. “Uh, congratulations on the wedding, by the way.”

Tony shares a look with both Pepper and Bruce, before looking back at Strange. “I’m sorry, you giving out tickets or something?” he asks, wondering why everyone has seemingly chosen _this_ park in particular to show off their tricks.

Strange takes another step forward. “We need your help,” he says, looking over his skeptical expression. “Look, it’s not overselling it to say that the fate of the universe is at stake.”

 _Great_ , Tony thinks. _One of_ those _missions._

“Who’s ‘we’?” he counters, wondering where this is all coming from.

Stephen glances back into the portal for a moment before he looks back at him. “She says she knows Thor,” he says.

oOo

Pepper goes back to the Tower to finish her lunch break. Tony doubts there are many things on Earth that have a shot at convincing Pepper to mess up her schedule if she can avoid it, and ‘weird magic Avenger problems’ are more _his_ territory than hers.

“I expect you back in time for dinner though,” she tells him with a stern look that he is disinclined to ignore.

“You got it,” he says, offering her one last kiss, before turning away to where Bruce is standing a little awkwardly, looking over at Strange and his glowing portal. “You coming with?” he asks the man, internally lamenting a little that he won’t be able to show off his new suit just yet.

Bruce flicks his eyes skeptically over the waiting portal. “I don’t know,” he says a little uncertainly. “With how weird the Accords are right now, I don’t want to risk getting on Ross’ radar right now.”

Tony shrugs and gestures for Bruce to follow him. “Com’on,” he says. “You know you’ll be dying of curiosity. And besides, you don’t have to fight, or whatever it is that will be coming after this. Ross can’t be mad at you for _going_ places.” Because Tony will skewer him if he tries, but that is beside the point. “I just need someone to come with me and make sure Mr. Wizard here doesn’t kidnap me or something,” he continues. “Buddy-buddy system, you know?”

Strange rolls his eyes at his words, but Bruce’s mouth twitches upwards. “I suppose I should keep you out of trouble,” he says, rolling his shoulders.

Tony grins at that, glad that he had managed to convince Bruce to come along. He knows that the man probably won’t _actually_ be able to help him with whatever Strange has, but he has yet to give up on the idea of showing off his new suit to him, which he can’t do if they split ways.

He isn’t sure he will get a chance any time soon though, Strange had seemed to think the world was ending so…

 _Here’s to hoping I’ll make it back for dinner,_ he thinks as he sets his shoulders and turns to Strange.

“So,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “What’s the plan?”

Strange takes the both of them back through his magical orange portal (and, you know, portals seem to be a consistent theme in his life now that he thinks about it), and they come out in a large old building. The varnished wood walls and sweeping staircase _would_ be impressive, if everything wasn’t covered in a layer of dust, and a large gaping hole wasn’t sitting in the middle of the staircase. 

“Doing some redecorating?” he comments, swinging his arms a little as he glances around the room and its other occupants. Besides himself, Strange and Bruce, there is another man which Strange introduces as Wong, and a woman— holding an all-too familiar golden staff.

He stares at it. That is _definitely_ not supposed to be here right now. He glances up at the woman, finding her to be staring at him just as intently, her fist tight around the staff.

“So…” he starts, glancing briefly at Bruce, before looking back at the woman. “Imma just start off here by confirming that you’re _not_ here to pull another Loki, cuz, you know. That didn’t go over very well for him last time.”

 _More or less,_ he thinks begrudgingly. They may have been able to stop Loki’s actual invasion, but the trickster had managed to escape afterwards with the Tesseract, so, they are probably even.

The woman stares at him for a moment longer, before a smirk flickers over her face. “It’s seems Thor chooses his friends well,” she says, shifting her weight and flicking her eyes over both him and Bruce.

At her words, a shadow passes over her face and she glances over towards the staff, before breathing in and shaking her head. “All I know of Loki and this realm is what I overheard while Thor was arguing with him,” she says, lifting her head to look at him again. “But…” She tilts her head. “In a sense, I suppose you could say I was sent here by Loki.”

Tony can’t help tensing at that, his mind instantly turning to the comforting presence of the nano-unit on his chest. “Yeah. okay, you’re gonna have to explain that a little more,” he says. “You here for world domination?”

The woman’s mouth twitches, and she flicks her hair away from her face. “No,” she says solemnly. “But someone else is coming.”

After that, Tony has to sit down, and the woman finally introduces herself as Brunnhilde, before telling them to call her Valkyrie. Given that she knows Thor, he probably should have expected that kind of name.

“Okay,” he tells her, unable to keep from glancing nervously at the staff still in her hands. “Start from the beginning.”

She lets out a small laugh. “The beginning, I was not there for,” she says. “But I picked up the pieces here and there after Thor and Loki crash-landed on the planet where I was.”

Apparently, Thor’s father had recently been dying, and the god had gone to him on Asgard. Loki had come too, although in disguise, and the both of them had been there to learn that Odin’s lifeforce was the only thing keeping their previously unknown homicidal sister trapped and away from them.

“She came after Odin died, and started to decimate Asgard,” Valkyrie tells them. “By then, Loki’s disguise had been revealed, and he tried to flee using the Rainbow Bridge.” Tony nods because he remembers that thing, and Valkyrie shifts her grip on the staff. “Thor followed him, thinking he was fleeing with the Tesseract again, and their struggle forced them off-course, onto Sakaar.”

According to Valkyrie, that is when she had met them, and Thor concocted a plan to escape the planet. “Loki also seemed desperate to leave,” she says. “But not for the same reasons.” She shakes her head. “He didn’t want to go back to Asgard. He wanted to run, I could tell.”

Run from what, she hadn’t known, but in the end, Loki _had_ gone back to Asgard, and he had helped Thor defeat their sister, by destroying Asgard. “He came onto the ship everyone was escaping in,” she explains. “And when he did, he had this staff.”

Tony’s eyes get inevitably drawn to the sceptre, and he scoffs. “Feeling nostalgic for old times?” he mutters a bit sulkily, folding his arms.

Valkyrie’s eyes seem to go distant and her fingers tap along the shaft of the staff. “I don’t think so,” she says, staring at something past Tony as she speaks. “Loki seemed reluctant to even touch the staff. He said he grabbed it because it was too dangerous to risk it not getting destroyed along with Asgard, but he seemed _very_ willing to let Thor take it into storage.”

Tony’s mouth purses at this, not sure what to think at her claims. The Loki she had met seems rather different than the one who had tried to invade Earth six years ago.

Valkyrie blinks and shakes her head, looking back at him. “I think Loki intended to run again,” she says, sitting up slightly. “If it were not for his mother, I think he would have left immediately. As it was…” she trails off for a moment, her hand tightening on the staff.

She squares her shoulders. “We were attacked,” she says, not looking away, her jaw clenched. “It was so sudden, and we were limping as it was, after Asgard…” Her gaze goes distant again, and her hand doesn’t let up on its grip on the staff.

After a second, she breathes in, her eyes flicking again to him. “Loki seemed to know who was attacking us,” she says. “Thanos, he called him. A mad Titan, in search of the infinity stones.”

Next to him, Tony feels Strange shift, and he darts his eyes over, noting the troubled expression on the man’s face. He opens his mouth to ask for a clarification, but he doesn’t get a chance as Valkyrie continues talking.

“Loki found me halfway through the attack,” she says. “I didn’t catch everything he was trying to say, but… I guess there were no secret paths for him to use where we were? And we had _two_ infinity stones with us, making us a target. He made me grab the staff, and then I think he was going to use the Tesseract to help us escape, but Thanos’ minions got to us first.”

Her eyes flick up to his, and hold his gaze. “You say Loki attacked this realm before,” she says, fiddling with the staff slightly. “I would not be surprised if this Thanos were behind the attack. They seemed to see him as a traitor. Apparently, he was supposed to return the Tesseract to Thanos. But he hid it instead.”

Tony blinks at the thought. To be honest, he hasn’t really thought of Loki in a long time. At first, they had all been worried about what the trickster would do with the Tesseract he had stolen, but then, he hadn't done anything… and they had moved on.

“Loki cast a spell to hide the staff from them,” Valkyrie continues. “It wouldn’t have worked for long, except, while we were being led to Thanos, we came across Heimdall.” Her lips press together and her jaw clenches. “He sent me here.”

Tony squints at her. “You said Loki sent you here,” he says.

Valkyrie stares back at him. “Loki was very insistent about the separation of the two stones,” she says. “He made it very clear that Thanos cannot be allowed to collect them all.”

Tony’s mouth purses. “Okay,” he says. “But what is so special about these stones? Why is this guy after them?”

Valkyrie’s expression flickers for a moment and she scoffs, a dry look of skepticism on her face. “To be honest,” she says. “Before all this, I had mostly disregarded the myths on Asgard about them. Asgard has plenty of stories.”

Next to her, the other wizard, Wong, shifts and he raises his hands, pulling them apart to reveal a circle of floating orange sigils, five different coloured stones beginning to float in the air as they watch. “From the dawn of the universe,” he begins. “There was nothing.” Tony can’t help watching with slight awe as the stones rotate amid a starry sky, and Wong continues. “Then, boom!” he says. “The Big Bang sent six elemental crystals, hurtling across the virgin universe. These Infinity Stone each control an essential aspect of existence.”

Strange takes over and the stones begin to light up along with his words. “Space.” The Tesseract. “Reality.” A red stone. “Power.” A purple one. “Soul.” Orange. “Mind.” Yellow, the sceptre. “And…” he lifts his hands and pulls them apart in front of a heavy metal necklace from around his neck, the eye opening to reveal a bright glowing green. “Time.”

Tony stares at the green stone for a moment, before flicking his eyes over to Valkyrie and her staff. Two stones. Exactly what they should not be doing apparently, if they want to avoid this Titan person.

“Tell me his name again,” he says, standing up and coming closer.

“Thanos,” Valkyrie says instantly. “In the myths, he is like a plague. Invading planets, wiping out the population. I wouldn’t be surprised if—” She cuts herself off and clenches her jaw. “Asgard is gone,” she continues. “Only a few refugees, and maybe the queen, made it to the escape pods. I doubt either of the princes survived long.”

Tony's blood runs cold, a chill running along his spine as he stares at Valkyrie’s staff. His mind flashes back suddenly to why exactly he and Steve had been able to send it away with Thor. They had taken it from Hydra, and they had _known_ to do that because their time-traveling future-selves had revealed the group to them.

Steve’s other-self had gone after the staff, and _his_ other-self had gone for the Tesseract.

“Is this why they were after them?” he finds himself muttering. Isn’t it too early for that though? JARVIS had said their other-selves had been at least a decade older… It hasn’t been a decade since the attack yet, why is everything happening _now?_ “What’s— what’s our timeline?” he gets out, glancing back up at Valkyrie.

Her lips press together, and her hand tightens on the staff. “No telling,” she says. “He found us not long after the destruction of Asgard. He has the Power stone, and probably the Space one by now. From what your mage says, he is already the strongest creature in the whole universe.”

“You said he invades planets and wipes them out?” Bruce cuts in, drawing her gaze. “So, if he gets his hands on all _six_ stones…”

“He can destroy life on a scale hitherto undreamt of,” Strange finishes.

Tony’s eyes jump back and forth between the stone on Strange’s neck, and the one in Valkyrie’s hand. “Okay,” he says sharply. “I'm choosing to ignore the present _antiquated language_ –” Strange rolls his eyes. “–and move on to the glaring problem we have.” Strange raises an eyebrow at him, and Tony gestures at the staff and the necklace.

“Two stones,” he says. “Say what you want about Loki, but according to Miss Viking over here, he seemed to want to keep these things separate. If Thanos is coming for these, why don’t we just stick one–” he gestures at Strange, “– down the garbage disposal and be done with it?”

“No can do,” Strange says immediately, straightening almost protectively at the suggestion.

“We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone,” Wong continues for him. “With our lives.”

Tony blinks at them. Hadn't Strange been the one to talk about the _fate of the universe?_ It seems a little bigger than life-oaths, but whatever. “Fine,” he says. “Do the math, Sherlock. Let’s destroy the other one.”

They both glance at Valkyrie, and she shifts. “You guys can do that?” she asks skeptically. “If the stones could be destroyed that easily, wouldn’t Loki have done it already?”

Personally, Tony can imagine Loki having his own reasons for keeping the stones around, but he doesn’t bother getting into that right now.

“First,” he starts. “We need to separate the stones. Having two of them here in the same city is like having a giant neon sign with the words “Come And Get Us” just hanging over our heads. This Thanos guy could be coming any—”

He cuts off, and stares, a distant rumbling filling his ears as he stares at Strange’s hair, a strand flicking in the newfound wind coming in from the hole in the ceiling. “Say, Doc,” he starts, a bubble of dry hysteria rising up in his mind. “You wouldn’t happen to be moving your hair, would you?”

Strange’s eyes dart up to the fluttering strand, and he looks back down. “Not at the moment, no.”

 _Great, great, great,_ he thinks, his eyes darting around to the gaping hole in the roof, noticing the darkening sky and increasing wind for the first time, distant screams beginning to reach his ears.

“Okay, cool, cool, cool,” he says, his eyes darting over the group around him. “Great. Times up. Four years early, apparently.”

The others don’t seem to know what he is talking about, but he doesn’t bother explaining, his eyes sweeping up to Valkyrie. “We need that staff out of here, _now_ ,” he says, his mind racing. They need the stones separated. Even if they can’t get it off planet, they can at least get it out of the same _city_ , right?

But where—?

“Wakanda,” he breathes, his eyes brightening as he glances up suddenly. “Steve is there. We can send it there.” His eyes cut to Strange and he snaps his fingers at him. “You can do one of your portal things, right?” he says, trying to keep the note of urgency out of his voice, his hands beginning to tingle as he thinks over the magnitude of the situation.

Fate of the universe indeed.

Strange nods, but Valkyrie tenses, her hands grasping the staff defensively as she scowls. “I’m not going _anywhere_ ,” she says, her stance widening. “I will stay and fight Thanos this time. He—”

Her words cut off as Strange raises his arms, a portal opening up under her feet. Valkyrie’s eyes widen, and her mouth opens as she lets out a scream that is more furious than it is afraid, and she falls through, her hair flying as the portal closes over her.

“Okay,” Tony mumbles, fumbling for his JARVIS-glasses as he tries to think in straight lines and keep from panicking. All his calming techniques that he has been working on so diligently seem to be rather pointless now, considering the hulking danger _literally outside._

He can already hear the voice of Judith though, his therapist calmly insisting that he walk through the problem. _Break it down into steps,_ she’d say. _What do you have to do_ first _?_

First, he has to call Steve and warn him of what he had just learned. And also about the furious woman that they had just dropped on top of him.

The others around him are starting to make their way out of the wizard building, and he follows them, the display of his glasses lighting up as JARVIS connects him to Steve.

It doesn’t take long for the man to pick up, which, considering the fact that he doesn’t know what time it is in Wakanda, is probably a miracle. “ _Tony?”_ he says, the sound of his voice a little more relieving than he had been expecting. “ _What’s up?”_

“Hey Steve,” he gets out, his voice slightly rushed as he follows behind Strange, the wind rushing in his ears as he dodges a fleeing civilian. “Remember how you told me to call you if there was ever a problem? Despite the Accords?”

Someone cries out as they run past him, and he can hear Steve’s voice sharpen instantly from friendly to concerned. “ _Tony,_ ” he says again. “ _Is something wrong?”_

Tony can’t help letting out a laugh at that. “More than you know,” he says. His eyes darting over the growing chaos around him, traffic getting tangled as the wind whips trash through the scattering crowds. “It’s too much to explain right now, but we sent someone to Wakanda, her name is Valkyrie, she has Loki’s scepter.”

He shifts to avoid a frantic pedestrian, and he darts his eyes up to look at the grey sky, his lips pressing together. “She should be there now,” he tells Steve, people continuing to scream as they flee past him. “She’s probably pissed off right now, but she’s on our side. She will explain.”

He doubts his explanation has helped Steve much, but he knows that once the man meets up with Valkyrie, he will be able to figure things out. “I have to go,” he says, before Steve can get a word in. “Something is attacking New York. Just, find Valkyrie, destroy the staff.”

_“Tony—”_

“See you, Cap,” he signs off, JARVIS cutting off the connection.

He wishes Steve were here with him right now, he really does. But, in a way, he is glad the man is able to help from afar. The two stones are separated, at least for now, and maybe in Wakanda, they have something that will be able to destroy the stones.

It is a long shot, but if _anyone_ has something that will work, it will be Wakanda.

That isn’t his problem right now though. Right _now,_ his problem is whatever is here now in New York, coming after Strange’s stone.

It isn’t that difficult to find the attack (the fleeing crowd is a bit of a give away), and he darts his eyes over the scene as a nearby car screeches and swerves between pedestrians, ramming into a streetlight right in front of him.

He winces at the sound and glances at the others with him. “Help him!” he shouts, waving towards the driver. “Wong, Doc.”

Bruce steps forward instead of Strange, and he realises that the wizard intends to actually _fight_ whatever this is, _with the Time Stone still around his neck_. His lips press together, and he taps his glasses. “JARVIS, what are we looking at?”

“Unknown, Sir,” JARVIS responds. “We will need to get closer to the anomaly first.”

 _Of course we will_ , he thinks dryly, darting past Strange so that he can look around the corner, where most of the debris and people seem to be coming from. “You might wanna put that Time Stone in your back pocket, Doc!” he calls, squinting into the blowing dust as he looks around the corner.

Strange thinks differently. “Might wanna use it,” he says, pumping his arms as orange bands begin to glow around his wrist. “This could be our best chance against Thanos.”

Tony doesn’t get a chance to reply, because in front of him, he sees it, a giant ring descending down from the sky, the spaceship blowing thick clouds of dust and debris into the air as it hovers above the street. People continue to flee past him, and he grits his teeth, the weight of his nano-unit pressing against his chest.

“Looks like I’m going to be showing off my suit anyways,” he mutters to himself.

If Thanos wants the stones, he will have to go through _him_ first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony confronts the invaders.

His mind starts shifting through the steps.

That is what Judith would say. Break it down into steps. One thing at a time.

Alien invasion, step one: “JARVIS, evac anyone south of 43rd Street,” he says, adjusting his glasses and squinting into the dust storm. “Notify first responders.”

“Yes Sir,” JARVIS replies.

The street under the spaceship is mostly deserted at this point, abandoned cars and taxis sitting idle in the road, their doors thrown open wide in a testament to the frantic escape of their occupants. Trash whips past his feet as he squints and slips past one of the vehicles, Bruce, Strange and Wong following behind as they push through the dust storm towards the ship.

Behind him, he catches sight of Strange swinging his arms around in a fancy swirl, the man throwing his hands up around his head and pushing them up into the air, the dust and wind from the ship following along, clearing the street and increasing visibility a hundred fold.

 _Looks like magic can be useful for something,_ he thinks, his mouth quirking up slightly. He still thinks Strange is risking it standing out in the open with the Time Stone, but he has to appreciate being able to see.

What he sees isn’t exactly promising.

“Tony, there’s another one,” Bruce hisses, at the same time that JARVIS speaks up.

“Second ship incoming, sir,” he says, and Tony looks up, dread pooling in his stomach as he spots a second circular, donut-like ship, breaking through the atmosphere.

 _Two stones,_ he thinks. _Two ships._

It is probably a good thing that they had sent Valkyrie to Wakanda, no matter what her own opinion is on the matter.

In front of him, the first ship beams a bluish light onto the street, and Tony watches tensely as two beings beam down. Behind him, the others follow along slowly as he makes his way cautiously towards the two invaders, his eyes flicking over them. They are different than the ones that had come six years ago. On the left, a big bulky orc-looking one with a scythe glares at them, and a smaller, thinner grey one stands next to him on the right.

Tony flicks his eyes between them, trying to determine which one, if either of them, is Thanos.

He can’t be sure, and he finds his eyes focusing down on the little grey one, noting the stiffness of his posture and the pretentiousness of his clasped hands. He looks like he would probably be looking down his nose at them— if he had one. “Hear me,” he says, in an almost benevolent tone. “And rejoice. You are about to die at the hands of the Children of Thanos.”

 _Awesome,_ Tony thinks as he comes to a stop, folding his arms. _One of_ these _kinds of aliens._

Not Thanos at least. But the rhetoric seems rather familiar. Loki’s own grandiose speeches from the other invasion seem somewhat similar, and Valkyrie’s theory of Thanos being behind the attack grows more and more plausible by the second.

“Be thankful,” the grey alien continues, and Tony has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Not only does he have invading aliens, but he has _preachy_ invading aliens. Aliens who aren’t finished talking. “Your meaningless lives are now contributing to—”

Which is about as much as he is willing to deal with right now. “I’m sorry, Earth is _closed today_ ,” he announces, and even from a distance, he can feel the disapproving glare from the smaller alien. “You better pack it up, and get outta here.”

The grey alien doesn’t seem that impressed, but at least he stops pontificating. Instead, he looks over to Strange. “Stonekeeper,” he starts, indicating that he is _definitely_ aware of the Time Stone around the man’s neck. “Does this chattering animal speak for you?”

“Certainly not, I speak for myself,” Strange says as he steps forward, magic whooshing through the air in three quick bursts as he pumps out some kind of orange shield for his hands. “You’re trespassing in this city and on this planet.”

Next to Tony, Wong copies Strange’s stance, and Tony takes the chance to glance up at the second approaching spaceship. It is getting a little too close for comfort. He glances back down at their current guests. “It means get lost, Squidward!” he shouts at the grey alien.

He very much doubts that the aliens will leave without a fight, but, he can dream a little bit.

Of course, reality is far from any kind of dream.

Instead of leaving, the first aliens stay, looking up as the second ship approaches with a roaring hum, drifting over to come hover above the first one. Strange’s shields dissipate as he repeats his magic wind trick again to keep the dust from blinding them, and another blue light beams down from the second ship.

The light clears to reveal _more_ grey aliens, a man and a woman this time, the two standing in the clearing next to the others. The man’s grey skin is wrinkly, and his hood exudes Palpatine vibes, while the woman seems to have gone overboard with the dark-blue eyeshadow and sharp cheekbones, her Maleficent-like horns completing the look.

The Palpatine-wannabe has a tall, gnarly looking glaive in his hand, and the Maleficent-lookalike has some sort of three-pronged staff with her, her eyes narrowing as she gives it a menacing twirl, her gaze darting between him and the other aliens.

He shifts and sucks in a breath, cupping his hands around his mouth. “We already got the spiel!” he yells. “No need to reiterate. We got it. Children of Thanos, meaningless lives, etcetera, etcetera.”

Maleficent squints at him for a moment, before her eyes shift to Strange, her gaze drifting down to the necklace around his neck. Tony watches as her mouth purses for a moment as she glances back at Squidward, before she twirls her staff again and points it at him.

“Where is the scepter?” she demands. “We know it was sent here.”

 _Interesting,_ he thinks. The two groups seem to be going after the stones separately, rather than working together. Maybe this Thanos person isn’t above a little interpersonal competition between his ‘children’.

“Does whoever get it first win a prize?” he calls back, ignoring the question. “Some kind of, ‘employee of the month’ kind of thing?”

Maleficent growls at him, and Squidward waves at his orc companion. “He exhausts me,” he says. “Bring me the stone.”

Orc-alien grunts as he swings down his scythe into the street with a concerning, asphalt shattering _crunch,_ his steps slow and menacing as he marches towards them, the scythe dragging along behind him through the road.

 _Alright, it’s starting_ , Tony thinks, his mind buzzing and his pulse quickening as he glances over at his companions. Wong and Strange both have their shields up again, but Bruce is still standing next to him, looking rather small in his everyday civilian clothes.

“Alright, you better skedaddle if you want to keep out of this fight,” he tells him, the sound of the approaching orc’s footsteps vibrating through the ground. “Although, I doubt the Accords really matter right now.”

The Accords are pretty controversial _anyways_ , and he doubts that Ross would be able to build much of a case against anyone fighting in this invasion right now.

Bruce seems to be on the same wavelength. “Ross can bite me,” he growls, his voice deepening slightly as he looks over towards the lumbering orc, something seeming to shift in the depths of his eyes as he breathes in. “Looks like you’ll get to see my new trick ahead of schedule,” he says, his mouth twitching up into a grin.

Despite the situation, Tony can’t help his own grin as he takes a slight step back, giving Bruce some space. He watches the man breathe deeply, the approaching orc-alien a mere distraction for the moment, because he is _finally_ going to get to see what Bruce has been working on for so long.

 _It’s all about balance,_ Bruce had told him once, while the man had been busy trying to work with the Hulk. _It’s difficult, for both of us. But we’re working on it._

 _And here it is,_ Tony thinks, as Bruce lets out a growl that rapidly grows into something deeper and more menacing, the fabric of his shirt ripping as his skin shifts from white to green and Hulk roars out.

Well. _Mostly_ Hulk.

Even after just a few seconds, it is clear that Bruce is much more present than he had used to be in the transformation, the face that turns to him much more familiar as it grins. “Pretty cool, right?” Bruce/Hulk, says, and Tony can’t help letting out a cheer.

“Lookin’ good, Bruce!” he announces. “Bruce-Hulk? Hulking Bruce? Can I call you that? Hulking Bruce?”

“No,” Bruce says instantly, turning his eyes over to the orc-alien, the creature frozen in its march as it looks Bruce up and down, seeming to eye him up with greater appreciation.

Tony huffs in amusement at Bruce’s reaction to the nickname, before he breathes in and rotates his shoulders. “Well, come up with a name then,” he says, flicking his eyes over the three other aliens. “But, it looks like you’re going to get to see my trick too.”

Honestly, this isn’t how he had been planning to show off his new suit, but, he will take what he can get.

Orc-alien is beginning to shake off his surprise, and Tony eyes him before he reaches down to tug on the drawstrings of his bodysuit, tightening it into something more appropriate for combat. That done, he reaches up and double-taps the nano-core in his chest in one quick movement. A familiar tingle spreads over him as, in less than a few seconds, nano-particles burst out of the unit and swarm over his body, encasing him in the familiar red and gold metal of his Iron Man suit.

He fights back a grin and reaches up for his JARVIS-glasses, the frames dissolving into nanites as well, shifting up to reform along with his helmet.

What can he say? Strange is not the only dramatic one here.

Orc-alien roars at the change, lifting up his scythe in fury and swinging it up above him as he charges forward. He tenses, but before he can even react, Bruce is roaring back, the ground vibrating under him as he dashes forward to meet the other alien.

It is obvious Hulk benefits from Bruce’s presence during the fight. His movements are more coordinated and calculated than usual as he ducks under the descending scythe and swings his fist up to clock the orc in the jaw.

Orc-alien reels back at the blow, and Tony can’t help grinning behind his helmet at the sight. He doubts these ‘Thanos Children’ were expecting much of a fight when they got here.

Of course, there are still three more of them that he has to deal with.

Which is a problem.

But he has an awesome suit now, so, there is that.

Orc-alien is thoroughly distracted by Bruce, and Squidward seems even less impressed than before, the alien waving his hand lazily at the pair, leaving Tony to watch dumbfoundedly as both Bruce and Orc-alien get shoved off to the side, the two fighters no longer blocking the way as Squidward fixes his eyes back onto the Time Stone around Strange’s neck.

Tony grits his teeth and glances over at him too. “Gotta get that stone outta here, now,” he says, hoping that Strange, or even Wong, will just open up a portal or something, because why risk the stone when the aliens are all _right here_ —

“It stays with me,” Strange says back, determinedly stubborn, which, Tony has to admit, isn’t that different than from how he had been before he had decided to become a wizard.

“Exactly,” he says shortly, too tense to argue right now. “Bye.”

And with that he fires his thrusters and burst off towards Squidward. If he can’t get Strange to leave the fight, then maybe he can take the fight _away_.

It is a bit of a difficult feat though, considering how there are still three opponents – besides Mr. Orc – and Squidward’s abilities don’t seem to be limited to simple handwaving. As he flies towards him, the alien flicks up his wrist, the ground around him cracking open as metal pipes break through the asphalt and come shooting up to block his way.

Tony barely has even a second to react as he swerves and ducks through the maze of obstacles, his helm lighting up with warnings as bits of concrete and rock fly by him at top speed.

A very small, distant part of him can’t help thinking about how much this is all going to cost to repair later.

He doesn’t really have time to think about that though, because as he is ducking under a new onslaught of city property, his entire helm lights up in alarm— a new obstacle slicing through the air and flying towards him at the speed of light.

His eyes widen and he grunts, Maleficent’s three-pronged staff slamming into his side, the air bursting painfully from his lungs as he gets knocked off course, the speed of the staff throwing him back down the street and actually managing to _hurl him through a building_. His eyes close instinctively as his ears fill with the sound of shattering glass and crumbling concrete, pain flaring across his shoulders as he tumbles helplessly through its walls.

He really needs to put more padding in his suit.

As it is, he crash-lands into the park beyond with a groan and a spray of dirt and grass clods, his head spinning and his ears ringing from the abruptness of the attack. Lights flash and notifications ping on his helm-display, the messages at least letting him know that the suit is, so far, surviving its first full battle encounter.

 _Okay, not great,_ he thinks, giving his head a shake as he works on pushing himself upright again. In the distance, he can hear Hulk-Bruce roaring, but he barely has enough time to hope that Bruce’s fight is going better than _his_ , before he has to get back at it again.

“Hostiles incoming, Sir,” JARVIS informs him, red lighting up his helm as he looks up to scan around him, his head still slightly dizzy from his crash as he finally makes it all the way to his feet.

He spots the Evil-Villain-Twins cresting over the top of the building he had just crashed through, the two of them verging on Steve levels of agility as they parkour their way down the building.

 _Okay, so enhanced agility, and probably speed,_ he thinks, readying himself, keeping his eyes fixed on the two as he ignites his thrusters and launches up to hover a few feet above the ground. He can deal with enhanced speed and agility. He trains with Steve and Bucky all the time. He just needs to make sure he stays out of range—

His ears are filled with the shriek of rushing air as Maleficent’s staff cuts towards him again, and he is forced to duck and dodge desperately to keep from being bowled over, the blue lights of the three-prongs blurring together as the staff whips past him.

Evidently staying out of range is a little more difficult when the enhanced person has a projectile weapon. Luckily for _him_ , Steve _also_ has a projectile weapon – more or less – and the way his shield bounces around (obeying the laws of science only when convenient, much to his annoyance), resembles Maleficent seemingly telekinetic control over her staff. So at least he has that going for him.

The fight still isn’t exactly a piece of cake. It would be easier if there weren’t _two_ of them, but as it is, he spends most of his time just barely managing to keep from being bulldozed by the two— and he is left to hope that Strange’s battle is going better than his, because there isn’t much he can do right now to help him.

At least the Evil-Villain-Twins don’t currently seem intent on going after Strange themselves. He doubts they would be able to counter a coordinated attack for very long. Instead, the twins have a different goal.

“Where is the sceptre?” Maleficent hisses again at him, her eyes narrowed and her hair flying around her as she catches her staff and crouches, preparing for another throw.

Tony grunts as he is forced to swoop through some fancy flying in order to avoid the thing, his escape flight-path sending him low enough to be a target to Palpatine. The alien leaps at him, and it is only pure luck and a few desperate moves that keep the man’s glaive from clawing into his suit.

“Sir,” JARVIS speaks up as he veers off, throwing out his hand thrusters to avoid a nearby tree, a whistling in his ears informing him that Maleficent has her staff again. “I would suggest avoiding contact with the glaive,” JARVIS continues. “Current readings suggest some sort of EMP properties—”

“Yup. Got it,” he cuts in, his voice strained as he is once again forced to abort course and duck away from Maleficent’s staff. He spirals away, his teeth clenched as every muscle in his body tenses with concentration as he swerves.

His helm readout flashes as Palpatine darts towards him again, and he grits his teeth. This is getting really, really old.

A whine fills the air as he charges his hand repulsors, a white beam of light blasting from the palm and cutting towards Palpatine, forcing the alien to come up short and duck away. The success is short-lived though. Behind him, he can hear Maleficent’s staff cutting through the air, and he turns, his repulsor beam cutting through a nearby tree as he tries to take out either Maleficent or the staff.

He misses both – because a telekinetic staff is a little harder to track than Steve’s shield – and he is forced to roll away, the buzz of the three-prongs whizzing over his head as he ducks. Palpatine is up again by this point, a glare on his face as he grips his glaive and zeros in on him.

Tony shoots off another repulsor blast to ward him off, black scorch marks defacing the grass as he tracks Palpatine’s progress, the alien staying a frustrating half-step ahead of him, somehow always managing to twist away and avoid contact.

He narrows his eyes and grits his teeth, the inside of his helm lighting up as JARVIS tries to predict the alien's path. If he can just manage to _catch_ him—

Too late, he remembers Maleficent and her pesky staff, and a shrill alarm blares in his ear as the three-pronged menace whips towards him. His eyes widen and he barely has time to turn his head and _look_ at the thing, let alone try to duck away when— 

There is a sudden _thwip!_ in his ear, and a strand of sticky webbing shoots through the air, latching onto the staff and yanking it away at the last second.

Both the evil twins actually seem to pause in surprise at the interruption (which is good, because Tony is still working on figuring out how to breathe again after that near-miss), and his eyes trail up numbly to rest on what he already knows will be there.

Peter Parker, dressed in his Spider-Man suit, sails over his head and lands lightly a few feet away, Maleficent’s staff trailing after him, still attached to a thin strip of webbing in his hand.

“Hey man,” he says, the bright tone of his voice nearly as shocking as his sudden appearance. “What’s up, Mr. Stark?”

Tony lets out a short breath, still not over his surprise. “Kid, where’d you come from?” he gets out, just barely managing to avoid sputtering. He hadn't really been expecting backup for this fight, since most of the nearby help is already _here_ , and since he hadn’t even known Peter was in the neighbourhood.

“Field trip,” Peter starts. “To _MoMA_ —”

His words cut off as Maleficent gets impatient, her face twisting as she mentally yanks on her staff. It shoots towards her, yanking Peter away and pulling him along behind like a brightly coloured balloon.

The situation isn’t exactly ideal, but Tony can at least content himself with the knowledge that Peter can’t actually get hit by the staff when he is actively _following_ it. In the meantime, he still has Palpatine to deal with, the alien letting out a growl as he darts towards him, his glaive slicing through the air as he swings it with a deadly grace.

Tony’s thrusters ignite and he shoots backwards, keeping one hand repulsor out as a counterbalance, while keeping the other aimed at Palpatine, sending the alien on the run again as he shoots a laser beam at him.

He isn’t exactly sure what Peter is up to – although he knows that JARVIS is keeping an eye on the kid, and will alert him if something is _seriously_ wrong – but from what he can hear, he seems to be causing problems for Maleficent and her fancy staff.

“What’s these guys’ problem, Mr. Stark?” the kid calls as he trips up Maleficent’s staff – yet again – with his webbing, eliciting a sharp growl from the woman as he ducks away.

Long story. Definitely a long story. “Uh, they’re from space,” he starts, his eyes darting over his helm-displays as he works on keeping Palpatine from getting the upper hand. “They’re here to steal a staff. There’s another group of aliens here trying to steal a necklace from a wizard.”

A wizard who is currently fighting somewhere else, meaning that he currently has _no idea_ how well that is going. Peter takes his explanation in stride, and Tony focuses back down on the fight. He needs to wrap this up somehow and get back to Strange. They very much _cannot_ let the Time Stone get into Thanos’ hands so— 

Palpatine snarls and swipes at him, sending him tumbling backwards, the alien’s glaive getting a little too close for comfort.

 _Okay,_ he thinks. _Time to try this out for a size._ Half-a-second is all it takes for his nano-tech to pick up on his thought process, and the nanites swarm together to form a shield on his left hand, his right hand staying free as he shoots a repulsor blast towards Palpatine.

Inside his helm, he can’t help a sharp grin as he watches Palpatine stare warily at his sudden new attachment. For his part, he had actually been hoping to show off his shield to Steve first, before he had to actually use it in battle but… it looks like the universe has other plans.

Palpatine recovers quickly from the new development with his suit, and he lets out a low growl, baring his teeth as he prepares to make a running leap at him, the tip of his glaive flashing in the light as he jumps. Tony hunkers down, his repulsor charging and his shield raising as he gets ready to counter the attack—

He blinks and a blur of red zooms past him, shooting between him and Palpatine in a move almost too quick to follow. His helm identifies it easily enough though, and a heavy feeling of foreboding settles in his stomach as he turns his head to track Strange’s speeding red cloak.

The fight must not be going well on Strange’s side then.

“Kid, that’s the wizard. Get on it!” he orders, just barely managing to get his shield up in time to fend off Palpatine’s continued attack.

“On it!” he hears Peter announce, the sound of his webshooters firing as he shoots off to following behind the fleeing cloak.

Peter going after Strange is useful, and a relief, since he is a little tied up right now, but it _does_ mean that he is back to a two-on-one fight, one which he had barely been able to keep ahead of _before_ Peter had shown up to intervene.

Palpatine and Maleficent don’t seem as inclined to pound him into the ground as before though, the flight of Strange in his cloak seeming to have shaken them as well. 

“Corvus!” the woman hisses, her eyes wild as she reclaims her staff and yanks a clump of webbing off of it. At her words, Tony watches as Palpatine slows in his attack, giving him a chance to breathe as the alien turns to look at her, his eyes searching.

“Ebony Maw nearly has his stone!” Maleficent snaps, her eyes focused on Palpatine, not even bothering to pay Tony any attention anymore. “We’re _wasting our time_.” 

Tony darts his eyes between the two aliens, and watches as Palpatine pulls back, planting the butt of his glaive into the ground decisively as he looks over at Maleficent. “Enough of this,” he says, his voice gravelly in his throat. “We will have a better chance scanning for the stone in the ship.”

Maleficent seems to agree with his assessment, and Tony realises with a start that they are going to give up their fight here, the two of them ready to go back to their ship and search for the sceptre that way. His heart leaps into his throat because he isn’t sure how well Wakanda’s tech will be able to stand up to alien scanners, and he doesn’t even know if Steve has managed to _find_ Valkyrie yet, let alone try to destroy the sceptre like they had planned.

He doesn’t get a chance to try to delay the Evil-Villain-Twins though, because just as he is about to take a step forward and shoot a repulsor blast off at them, his comms flicker to life.

“ _Uhh, Mr. Stark?_ ” Peter’s uncertain voice filters through, shoving all thoughts of the evil twins to the side. “ _I’m being beamed up!”_

Tony’s stomach drops, and he whips his head over to where he can see Squidward’s ship hovering above the city, a blue light emitting from it as it, presumably, tries to suck his kid away.

Absolutely not.

“Hang on, kid,” he shouts back at him, his helm-display narrowing in on the ship as he turns and prepares to blast off. The evil twins will have to be left to their own devices. He will have to trust Steve and Wakanda to be able to fend them off, right now, he not only needs to keep the Time Stone out of Squidward’s hands, but he also needs to keep Peter from getting sucked out of the atmosphere.

As he flies, he is vaguely aware of shooting past both Hulk-Bruce and Wong, as the two of them managed to outmatch the orc-alien, but he hardly notices them, his mind too focused on the donut-shaped ship in the sky.

“Give me a little juice, JARVIS,” he says, the thrusters of his suit morphing into a larger jet as he shoots towards the alien ship, his mind already calculating what needs to be done in order to keep Peter safe.

“Unlock 17-A,” he orders, his eyes pinned on the targeting symbol on his helm-display indicating Peter’s position on the inner ring of the ship. He hadn’t been planning to release this version of Peter’s suit just yet, but it is ready. He hadn't been able to stop himself from making it after he had developed his own nano-suit.

He had been planning on presenting it as some sort of gift for something (he hadn't figured out for what yet), but now, with Peter clinging to the side of a accelerating spaceship, part of him wishes he had had the foresight to give the nano-suit to Peter earlier.

“Pete, you gotta let go,” he tells him through the comms. “I’m gonna catch you.”

“ _But you said save the wizard_ ,” Peter protests through the comms, his breathless voice giving a reason for his desperate lack of logic. A second later, and the kid confirms it. “ _I can’t breathe!_ ”

Tony’s lips press together as he tries to reason with the oxygen-starve teen. “You’re too high up,” he says, watching as the distance between him and the ship becomes smaller and smaller. “You’re running out of air.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” is Peter’s thin reply. “ _That… makes sense._ ”

A second later and he can only watch helplessly as his helm flashes red, alerting him to the fact that Peter is no longer hanging onto the ship, instead he slips away, freefalling as he passes out. At the same moment though, the kid’s suit shoots past him, trailing smoke as it aims for the falling superhero.

“Seconds until contact,” JARVIS announces quietly in his helm. “Three… two… one.”

He sees it hit, and he watches as the suit attaches to Peter’s limp frame, the nanites crawling over him to form a brand new, _space worthy_ , suit. It takes a second for Peter to wake up again, and Tony continues his tense trek towards the retreating ship, watching as the kid spirals through the air, tumbling over himself a few times before he manages to get a good grip again on the ship.

“ _Mr. Stark, it smells like a new car in here!_ ” he announces, seemingly unfazed by his brush with death.

Tony, on the other hand, is _definitely_ fazed. Fully fazed. 100% fazed. Fazed to the point of _never wanting to do that again_. “Happy trails kid,” he tells him, not wanting to let on how tense the last few seconds have been for him. “JARVIS, send him home.”

“Of course, Sir,” JARVIS replies instantly, and up ahead of him, he can see a large white parachute suddenly burst out of the back of Peter’s suit, the sudden wind resistance snatching the kid from the ship’s hull and sending him spiralling back towards Earth.

“ _Oh_ come _on—”_ he hears him protest, and he can’t help a small smile at that. While he may not be willing to let Peter risk himself for this mission, he can’t help being amused by the fact that the kid seemingly hasn’t changed his outlook much from when he had taken down the Vulture. 

With Peter safe and heading back home though, he can now focus back on the ship, and the prisoner it holds inside. With a final boost of power, he latches onto the outer ring, activating a laser in the arm of his suit, and melting through the metal, cutting a hole into the ship.

He will admit that, by this point, he isn’t exactly thinking long-term. Boarding an alien ship that is _currently leaving the atmosphere_ hadn't really been on the schedule for the day, but Strange is aboard, and he absolutely cannot leave him to Squidward.

To that end, he finds himself slipping into the dank, dark interior of the ship, his helm flickering erratically as the ship begins to leave JARVIS’ range.

“Sir,” he hears his AI speak up, the sound of his voice getting fainter and fainter. “Incoming call from Miss Potts.”

 _Oh geez,_ he thinks, his eyes widening as he remembers suddenly that Pepper is going to have to deal with all of this, and that this is the _second_ time he is risking death to fight off invading aliens from space.

“ _Tony?”_ Pepper’s voice cuts through, his heart clenching as it fades in and out. _“—re you alright? What’s going on?”_

He swallows dryly, his eyes flicking around the internal mechanisms of the ship. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, aiming for a brisk tone in an attempt to reassure her. “But… I don’t think I’ll be making it back for dinner after all.”

Of course, Pepper has known him long enough to see through him. _“Why?”_ she says instantly, and he can already imagine her, her hand tight around her phone as she asks a question she is afraid to know the answer to.

“Just…” His lips press together, hating the reality of what he is doing. “Cuz I’ll…probably not make it back for a while.”

Pepper’s voice sharpens, despite the breaking connection. “ _Tell me you’re not on that ship,”_ she says, and Tony really wishes he could tell her otherwise.

“Yeah,” he says instead, his fingers curling together slightly as he presses his lips together, his engagement ring pressing into the metal of his gauntlet. He knows he needs to do this, he needs to go after the stone… but leaving Pepper, and making her _afraid_ like this…

“ _No, Tony. Please no,”_ Pepper responds, her voice staticky and thin with panic.

He closes his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, because he is. He knows why she is afraid, and… and he doesn’t _want_ to believe he is trying to make another sacrifice play, like he had last time— because he has been working on _not_ doing that sort of thing— but— but he _knows_ he needs to go after the stone.

 _“You com-- back,”_ Pepper orders. “ _You better come back. You hear—?_

“I will,” he tries to tell her. “I will Pep, I—"

“Sir-- we’re losing her,” JARVIS reports in a fading voice. “I as well, it would see—"

And then he cuts out.

Tony’s breath catches, and despite his resolve to go after Strange and the stone, he can’t help the cold swoop of fear that floods through his gut at the knowledge that he is well and truly alone up here, in an alien spaceship, speeding away from Earth, with no way of knowing what will happen down there.

And no way of knowing whether he will ever make it back to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Tony got to fight TWO groups of aliens this time (tbh I don’t know why the other two took so long in the first place, they left the Asgardians at the same time, so why Squidward came to Earth first is anyone’s guess.)
> 
> Luckily he had Bruce and Peter to help balance out the odds, but Strange was still kidnapped by Squidward in the end, and Tony ended up on the ship.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony attempts a rescue plan... with unexpected help.

_Steps,_ he reminds himself. _Break it down into steps._

Right now, he can’t think about how he is stuck on an alien spaceship, or about how Steve and the others are probably still being attacked by aliens.

Instead, he has to think of _just the next step_ in his plan. What does he _need_ to do? What are his goals?

He needs to find Strange, and he needs to keep the stone from getting into Thanos’ hands.

Easier said than done. Without JARVIS, his suit can only do rudimentary scans. With that information, he knows vaguely where Strange _is_ , (up), but he has no way of scanning the whole ship and having JARVIS plot a route for him. Instead he is left to pick his way along, doing his best to guess the best way to get to where Strange’s life-signature flashes at him on his helm-display.

Every second he spends searching is agony, because he has no way of knowing what Squidward might be doing to Strange, but he keeps a steady pace, keeping in the shadows and hoping desperately that Squidward isn’t too keen on internal security.

The last thing he needs to do is get into another battle with something before he finds Strange.

The hallways remain empty though, and he soon comes out to stand in what seems to be the command center of the ship, the floor in front of him dropping away to reveal Strange and Squidward down on some sort of platform.

He was right to worry about Strange’s condition.

From his vantage point above them, he can see Strange suspended in the air in front of Squidward, the man completely immobile and surrounded by what, from a distance, look like two feet long glass needles.

It seems Strange has done something to keep Squidward from simply taking the stone, so instead the alien has changed tactics.

“In all the time I’ve served Thanos, I’ve never failed him,” Squidward hisses at the man, the needles circling closer with the wave of his grey hand. “If I were to reach our rendezvous on Titan with the Time Stone still attached to your vaguely irritating person, there would be… judgement.”

To be honest, Thanos sounds like a massive piece of work, but Tony isn’t really worried about that right now, because Squidward waves the needles closer to Strange. “Give me… the stone,” he growls, Strange letting out a strained grunt of pain as one of the needles begins to dig into his face.

 _Okay,_ he thinks, his heart pounding as his eyes dart over the scene. He doesn’t really want to test how long Strange can hold out against this sort of thing (he very firmly does not think of his own experience with this type of _persuasion_ ), so he needs to figure out how to get him out— and back to Earth.

Squidward seemed to be implying that they are headed _towards_ Thanos, which, probably isn’t great. But then again, two stones on Earth _also_ isn’t good so—

His train of thought gets cut off as something taps him on the shoulder, and in an instant, his hand is out, his repulsor charged and ready, his heartrate spiking as he prepares to face whatever creepy crawly Squidward has employed around his ship.

A second later and he pauses, blinking as he stares down Strange’s cloak, the red folds of fabric floating independently in the air, and somehow seeming to stare at him as he looks at it. “Wow,” he comments, relaxing. “You’re a seriously loyal piece of outerwear, aren’t you?”

He probably shouldn’t be surprised, given the kinds of things Strange seems to be into now, but a magic cloak is good, he’ll take whatever he can get to keep the stone out of Thanos’ hands—

“Yeah, uh, speaking of loyalty…”

His heart rate (which, despite everything, had actually been in the process of slowing down), redoubles in pace again as a familiar voice breaks through the stillness. As one, he and the cloak whip around, and he stares open-mouthed as _Peter_ swings down from the ceiling.

No. Absolutely not. Peter is very much _not supposed to be here._ Peter is supposed to be back on Earth. He had very specifically _sent him back._ This, cannot be happening.

But his eyes continue to show a red and blue teen standing in front of him. Exactly where he should _not_ be.

“What the—" he starts, and Peter seems to already be aware of his opinion on the matter.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he cuts in quickly, his hands raising defensively.

He says it anyways, his voice firm with disapproval. “You should not be here.”

Peter’s protests continue, his rapid explanation reminding him too much of midnight teenage excursions and after-dark lectures. “I was gonna go home—”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” And… now he sounds like his parents.

“But it was such a long way down and I just thought about you on the way…”

“And now I gotta hear it.”

“…And I kinda stuck to the side of the ship,” Peter continues, gesturing wildly at the suit and then at him. “And this suit is _ridiculously_ intuitive, by the way—” Tony looks down, silently cursing the nano-suit tech for the first time. He had meant for it to _protect_ Peter, not _bring him onto an alien ship_.

Peter continues. “—So if anything, it's kind of your fault I’m here.”

 _Excuse me?_ Even Cloak seems shocked by what Peter had just said, standing stiff as Tony darts his head up to look at the kid. “ _What_ did you just say?”

Peter backtracks immediately, his hands raising again. “I-I take that back,” he says quickly, dropping his arms again as he comes to the end of his story. “And… now I’m here in space.”

“Yeah,” Tony says sharply, taking a step closer to him, his mind racing as he thinks over the magnitude of what Peter has just done. “Right where I don’t _want_ you to be.” Peter’s eyes flick up to him as he leans in and lowers his voice. “This isn’t Coney Island,” he says. “This isn’t a field trip. It’s a one-way ticket.”

Pepper’s face and their last phone conversation flashes in his mind, and he pushes it away. He doesn’t _want_ this trip to be one-way, but he knows the odds. That is why _he_ is up here, and _Peter_ is supposed to be _back on Earth._

Peter tries to say something in protest, and he cuts him off. “You hear me?” he says, fear giving his voice the taint of exasperation. “Don’t pretend like you thought this through,” he continues, speaking louder over Peter’s rising protests. “You could not have possibly thought this through.”

“No,” Peter tries to insist. “I did— I did think this through.”

He is not having it. “You could _not_ have _possibly_ thought this through,” he says again. And he knows he is right, because he is a full blown _adult_ , and _he_ had hardly thought this through— even if he isn’t exactly proud of that fact. But that is okay, because this is more or less his job.

And his job includes keeping Peter from making last-ditch-effort plays like this.

“It’s just…” Peter looks up at him. “You can’t be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if there’s no neighborhood,” he says.

Tony stares back at him, breathing in as he internally curses the kid and how much he sounds like him, Steve, and nearly every other Avenger he knows. Of course, he should have expected this sort of thing from Peter. It is the same reason he had gone after the Vulture last year.

Peter takes his silence as bewilderment and he huffs out a breath. “Okay, that didn’t really make any sense,” he says plaintively. “But you know what I’m trying to say.”

He does. He does know where the kid is coming from, and at this point, despite how he feels about the situation, he has to admit to himself that he doesn’t actually have a way to send Peter back home. Peter is here, like it or not, and Strange still needs to be rescued.

Arguing with Peter won’t fix any of this. He will just have to accept the situation and try to protect the kid up close and personal, rather than from a distance, like he had been planning. This venture is going to have to go from one-way to a round-trip _now_ , because there is no other option now. Not with Peter on board.

Peter is still looking at him, and Tony sucks in a breath, his gaze shifting past him, over to where Squidward is still working away at Strange. _Alright,_ he thinks. _Looks like this is how it is going to be._

“Come on,” he says briskly, turning away, Peter trailing after him as he moves over to point down towards the platform with Strange and Squidward. “We got a situation,” he tells the kid. “See him down there? He’s in trouble. What’s your plan? Go.”

He doesn’t really know what he expects Peter to come up with, but he doesn’t have a plan yet, and throwing it over to the kid is the best he can do right now to bring him onto the team. And besides, if Peter comes up with even the basics of a plan, he can at least be sure that they will try something that the kid has the skills to do.

Beside him, Peter crouches down as he looks over the scene, Cloak swooping down as well to watch over his shoulder. “Um. Okay,” Peter mumbles as he thinks, his eyes darting around, completely focused on his new task.

He is at least taking this part seriously, and despite everything… Tony has to admit that he is pretty curious what the kid will come up with.

“Okay… uh… Okay,” Peter’s voice sharpens with decisiveness and he stands up, his eyes bright with an idea. “Did you ever see this really old movie, _Aliens?_ ”

Tony stares at him, and thinks very, very seriously of somehow sending the kid home. This time for very _different_ reasons.

oOo

It _is_ a good plan.

“You know that movie isn’t _that_ old,” he gripes at him through the comms, more trying to distract the kid away from Strange’s pained screams as they get into position, than actually trying to debate the longevity of the film industry.

Nothing he says can keep Strange’s pained groans from reaching his ears though, and he presses his lips together as he very carefully – and _quietly_ – navigates his suit to settle down behind Squidward and his house of horrors’ needle collection.

“Painful, aren’t they?” he hears Squidward taunt in between Strange’s pained gasps. “They were originally designed for microsurgery,” he continues, probably unaware of the irony of his words, given Strange’s former occupation. “Any one of them—”

Tony’s thrusters land in front of what he assumes is the ship’s control console, the metal connecting with a quiet thud that echoes throughout the empty space and cuts Squidward off.

He raises his repulsors, and the alien turns slowly, a look of menacing irritation on his face as he catches sight of him. “—could end your friend’s life in an instant,” he finishes with a growl.

“He’s really more of my doctor, than my friend,” he counters. “Saving him is more for my own self-interest than anything else.”

Squidward doesn’t look impressed, his expression hardly changing as he takes a slow step towards him. “You ‘save’ nothing,” he says, waving his hand lazily to pull up a chunk of metal from below that – apparently – serves no other purpose than to become a projectile weapon for him. “Your powers are inconsequential compared to mine,” he says, pulling up another block of metal.

Tony’s eyes dart to the side and a targeting screen flickers up on his helm-display. “Yeah,” he says, unable to keep from feeling a slight pride at his next words. “But the kid’s seen more movies.”

He doubts Squidward even knows what movies _are_ , but he doesn’t give him time to react either way. The second the words leave his mouth, he pops up the shoulder canon of his suit, a whine filling the air as it charges up and fires a missile — not at Squidward, but at the hull of the ship.

The missile tears through the metal with a screech, and Squidward and his two chunks of metal jerk sideways, hurtling towards the newly formed hole as the room depressurizes and tries to suck everything out into space.

Tony’s thrusters keep him in place, but Strange and his collection of needles fly off, spiraling towards the hole and the empty void of space beyond it. Losing Strange and the stone to space is kind of counterproductive, but Peter’s plan had already accounted for this. As Strange gets sucked away, Cloak jumps in, clinging to the man for a few precious seconds, before he gets torn away again, the escaping atmosphere too much for the magical cape.

Tony can see Peter leap for Strange instead, his webshooters firing and latching onto the man before he can get pulled out. For his part, Tony surges towards the breach, his mind set on sealing it before it gets them all killed. It is difficult, trying to fly without getting sucked out, and Peter is even worse off, his hand reaching back desperately to grab something sturdy to keep from getting forcibly ejected from the ship.

His hand closes over a piece of the ship – and for half-a-second, Tony thinks he is safe – but the metal snaps almost instantly, sending the teen once again hurtling towards the vacuum of space (and sending Tony’s heart skyrocketing into his throat).

The kid hasn’t even been in space for more than an _hour_ yet, and he’s already risking _death_ —

He can’t think about that right now. He needs to focus. He needs to get to the breach; he needs to close it. He grits his teeth and urges his suit to go faster, the display in his helm indicating the ready status of the surplus of nanites in his gauntlets.

It will be useless, of course, if Peter gets sucked out _first_ —

Just as he thinks Peter might follow Squidward and slip through the gaping hole, his suit steps in and redeems itself from bringing him on board. As he watches, he sees the back of the suit burst open, revealing the Iron-Spider-Legs he had installed when he had been upgrading the suit.

The Spider-Legs catch Peter on the very edge of the ragged hole of the breach, and Tony sucks in a breath, his heart pounding at how close the kid had come to slipping away. In front of him, the legs give the kid enough leverage to pull both him and Strange back into the ship, and he somersaults backwards, shouting something that Tony can’t quite hear above the rushing of the ship’s atmosphere.

He is too focused to pay attention to it anyways, his mind completely fixating on the One Task In Front Of Him, because if he doesn’t, then he knows he will be too frazzled to actually think straight and fix the hull. As it is, he swoops down in front of Peter, his leg thrusters keeping him steady as he sprays nanites over the hole, using broad, sweeping strokes to cover the breach.

The move depletes a large store of his nanites, but the hole closes, and the room feels suddenly overly quiet with the sudden loss of rushing air, the atmosphere of the ship no longer trying to escape outside. Behind him, he hears Strange fall to the floor with a thud, and he turns to see Peter landing more gracefully, his Spider-Legs retracting back into his suit as he stands, Strange’s cloak drifting over to him.

“Hey,” Peter says, talking to the cloak as if he hadn’t just risked his life and almost died a few seconds ago. “We haven’t officially met.” He holds out his hand to the cloak – which, Tony finds he isn’t even surprised about, Peter just, does things like that.

Strange’s cloak ignores him though, flying over instead to incircle its recovering host, and Tony flies closer too, landing on the platform and allowing his nano-suit to retract, his eyes flicking over Strange as the man pushes himself up.

He doesn’t look too much worse for wear, which, he supposes is a good thing, even if he can’t help being slightly irritated with the man. Strange wouldn’t have been in this situation in the _first_ place if he had just taken his advice and left while he could, but instead the man had insisted on fighting, and now both him, and _Peter_ , are on a deathtrap of a spaceship.

In space.

Not what he had been planning to do today.

In front of him, Strange flicks his eyes over what seems to be the controls of the ship, and turns to look back at him. “We’ve gotta turn this ship around,” he says, and Tony scoffs.

“Yeah, _now_ he wants to run,” he says, unable to keep the bitter note out of his voice. “Great plan.”

“No,” Strange counters, his eyes narrowing as he looks at him. “I want to protect the stone.”

Tony’s mouth purses and he walks closer to Strange, his eyes flicking to the eerie blue light behind him as the ship rushes through hyper speed, every second taking them farther and farther away from Earth.

“Great job you did of that, by the way,” he bites out. “Your stone would have been toast without us, which, you still haven’t thanked us for.”

Strange’s brow twists into a scowl. “What? Thank you? For nearly blasting me into space?” he says incredulously before rolling his shoulders, wincing theatrically as he jostles a bruise from his fall.

Tony grits his teeth and leans in closer. “We saved your life,” he says. “And we wouldn’t have _had_ to, if you had ducked out when I told you to. I tried to bench you–” Much like he had tried to bench Peter, but that is beside the point. “–you refused.”

Strange leans in as well, not backing down. “Unlike everyone else in your life, I don’t work for you, not anymore,” he quips, which, is not only inaccurate, but besides the point. But whatever.

“And due to that fact,” Tony shoots back. “We’re now in a flying doughnut, billions of miles from Earth, with no backup.”

Peter tries to jump in, raising a hand from behind them. “I’m backup.”

“No,” Tony says immediately, turning and waving his hand at him. “You’re a stowaway. The adults are talking.”

Of course, what they are talking about is the stupidity and ego of some very _specific_ adults, not exactly academic discourse, but still. Either way, Peter’s interruption distracts Strange away from their original argument and he turns to look at the kid. “I’m sorry,” he says loftily, gesturing between the two of them. “I’m confused as to the relationship here… Wh— what is he, your ward?”

 _He isn’t supposed to be here,_ is all Tony can think, before Peter darts forward, eagerly holding out his hand. “No,” he says, before Tony can try to actually put a name to their relationship. “I’m Peter, by the way.”

Strange looks down at him and draws his shoulders together self-righteously. “Doctor Strange,” he says.

Contrary to what he had probably been expecting, Peter isn’t exactly impressed by his title. “Oh, we’re using our made-up names,” he says, dropping his hand, and Tony has to turn away in order to hide his smile. “Um… I’m Spider-Man, then.”

Strange stares at Peter, probably thrown off by his overall manner, and Tony turns away from them to examine the previous source of contention between him and Strange. The man wants to take the ship home, and he can see the controls here but… even if he could figure out how to use them… what would that do exactly?

All he would be doing would be bringing a second stone _back_ to Earth. It is obvious that this Thanos character is on the move now, going after these stones. Valkyrie and the Mind Stone probably hadn’t been on Earth for more than an _hour_ , but both Squidward and the Evil-Villain-Twins had shown up almost immediately.

And, if Valkyrie is to be believed, then Loki had been trying to hide from Thanos for these past six years. He had been caught with two stones at once _too_ , and now Valkyrie thinks that both he and Thor are dead.

Thanos had come and decimated the Asgardians… and the stone that he was after had been sent to Earth.

He doesn’t even know what is going on back there right now. He had tried to warn Steve, and he had sent Valkyrie to the safest place possible, but he has no guarantee that Steve or the Wakandans will be able to hold off the Evil-Twins, or be able to destroy the Mind Stone before Thanos comes for it.

But… Squidward had been planning to deliver his stone. What had he said? He was going to go _rendezvous_ on Titan, and give Thanos the stone. That _must_ mean he had either scheduled a meet up beforehand, or had signaled this Thanos guy already.

So… so, if they are lucky, then Thanos will be going to Titan _first,_ before he tries to invade Earth. Steve and the others might have a chance if Thanos doesn’t come for them right away. He imagines Steve and Wakanda will be able to take care of the Evil-Twins, so if they can do that, then all they need is some _time_. Time to destroy the stone before Thanos comes.

He… can give them that time, can’t he?

His eyes dart over the controls, to confirm what he already thinks is true. “This ship is self-correcting its course,” he says, almost absentmindedly. “Thing’s on autopilot.”

Strange glances away from Peter and takes a step closer towards him. “Can we control it?” he asks. “Fly us home?”

Probably yes, but… but then they would just be waiting for Thanos to come after the stone on Earth. They can’t _run_ with it either, because, for one thing, he has Peter to think about, and for another, Loki had apparently already tried that, and it hadn’t gone over too well for him.

The thought of Loki and his escape with the Tesseract reminds him of how that had even _happened_ , and he thinks back to his time-traveling self that he had seen, almost six years ago now.

What had his other-self done in this situation? Had he even gotten to this situation? Had his other-self built the time machine before all this, and gone to collect the stones to fight Thanos that way? Should he have been trying to build a time machine this whole time?

He hadn’t really thought about it, despite his efforts to build his nano-suit, because, for one thing, time-travel is dangerous, and for another, he had thought he had still had _time._ JARVIS had said his other-self had been at least ten years older than him. But… it has only been six years for him.

Had things been different for the other timeline somehow? Had Thanos come later for them? Had they been better prepared? Is there something he could have done to keep this from happening for another four years?

He isn’t sure. He really has no way of knowing, but… maybe there is something he can do _now_ —

“Stark?” Strange cuts in, and Tony glances over at him. “Can you take us home?”

“Yeah, I heard you,” he says, blinking as he comes out of his thoughts. “I’m thinking… I’m not sure we should.”

Strange seems to catch onto his meaning immediately, drawing up sharply at his suggestion, his voice going hard. “Under no circumstance can we bring the Time Stone to Thanos,” he says, looking him over. “I don’t think you quite understand what’s at stake here.”

Tony would laugh if he could. He is probably more aware of what is at stake than most people. _Strange_ had been the one to keep fighting and put the stone at risk. “No,” he says sharply, stalking over to stand chest to chest with Strange and looking up at him. “What _you_ don’t understand is that taking the stone back will just double the danger back at home.”

He shakes his head. “We know from Valkyrie that Thanos has been planning this for _six years._ He sent a whole army to Earth just to get the Tesseract, and that was just with _one stone_. We’d have two on Earth, if we went back. So, I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know if it is a better plan to fight him on our turf or his, but, at least on his turf, he’s not expecting it.”

Of course, going to Thanos’ turf will be putting Peter in danger, but, with an insane madman stalking the universe, Peter will be in danger _anywhere,_ and at least here, he can try to protect him.

“So,” he continues bluntly, staring into Strange’s eyes. “ _I_ say we take the fight to him, _Doctor._ Do you concur?”

Strange stares back at him for a moment, his eyes flicking over his tense expression. The silence settles, and his jaw clenches. “Alright Stark,” he says shortly, drawing back slightly. “We go to him.” He catches his eyes again. “But, you have to understand… if it comes to saving you, or the kid, or the Time Stone…” he raises his chin. “I will not hesitate to let either of you die. I can’t, because the fate of the universe depends on it.”

Considering who Thanos is, and what he is trying to do, Tony can understand where he is coming from… but, he thinks that if he were put in a similar position, if he were to have to chose between Peter and the stone…

Well, it is probably a good thing the stone isn’t in his possession.

He doesn’t say any of that though, instead, he nods briskly. “Nice, good. Moral compass,” he gets out, glad at least that he and Strange are not arguing anymore, and that the man had agreed to his plan, as reckless and hairbrained as it seems to be.

He turns, and his stomach clenches as he sees Peter still standing a few feet away, watching them as they plan a near-suicide mission. He nearly falters then, because he should not be putting Peter in danger. He should be taking him home. He is the adult, he is the responsible one… and he is taking Peter straight to Thanos.

He doubts Peter will see it that way though. He knows how much the kid wants to be let off his leash, he knows how much he wants to be a full-fledged Avenger. His favourite pastime is _saving_ people for heaven’s sake! That is what he does. He runs _towards_ the danger. He jumps in, and he saves people. He is on this ship for a _reason_ after all.

Tony wishes he were home though.

He can’t say any of that though, because he has already hashed it out a bit with the kid before, and because nothing he says will change the fact that they are now sailing directly into danger.

Instead he steps forward and does what Peter has been waiting for for so long. He can give him that much, at least. “Congratulations kid,” he says, tapping each of his shoulders in turn as if dubbing a knight. “You’re an Avenger now.”

Peter’s face lights up in pride, before settling back down into steady determination, but Tony finds that he can’t quite look him in the eyes as he passes.

oOo

Despite the hyper speed of the ship, it takes a while to get to wherever Titan is, and the ship isn’t exactly a five-star hotel.

“You’d think they would at least put in, like, a chair or something,” Peter comments next to him, the kid standing with his hands on his hips as he glances around the barren platform. “Does everything have to be steel and utilitarian?”

“It’s probably not steel,” he mutters back distractedly, his eyes focused on the blue display of stars zipping past them on the control panel.

Peter’s eyes brighten at that, and he goes off for a while, theorising over what kind of metal the ship could be made of, and how alien metal would compare to Earth. “I guess it’s good that your missile worked on it,” he concludes, nodding. “If it hadn't, then we would have been in trouble.”

They had almost been in trouble regardless, but Tony doesn’t mention that.

Beside him, Peter shifts, glancing around a little bit as his hand goes to his stomach. “So, I know this ship is going with the whole, severe theme,” he says, his eyes darting up to him. “But, do you think they have some kind of food or something onboard? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Tony almost jerks as he looks over at him, trying to calculate how long it has been since the teen has last eaten, and how much he needs with his metabolism. He internally curses the lack of pockets in his bodysuit. If he had _known_ that this was going to happen, then he would have brought something for Peter, with how fast the kid’s metabolism is, he is always going through granola bars and fruits snacks and things.

But, of course, he doesn’t have any of that here.

“There’s got to be something,” he decides, rubbing his hands together and glancing around. “Every ship needs a cafeteria. We just… have to find it.”

Easier said than done, considering the foreign ship controls, and the rudimentary nature of his suit scanners. Hunting for a random cafeteria could take _hours_ , and could also be dangerous, two things which he is _not_ looking forward to.

Thankfully, Peter has another bout of genius.

As he is busy thinking about where a cafeteria could even possibly _be_ on this donut of a ship, Peter glances over to where Strange is floating cross-legged above the platform, his eyes closed in meditation.

“Hey,” he calls. “You’ve got magic right? Do you think you could find something?”

Strange cracks an eye open and gives him an unimpressed look.

Peter is undeterred. “Com’on,” he wheedles, taking a step closer to the floating wizard. “There’s got to be something edible on this ship. Aren’t you hungry too?”

Strange glances up at the ceiling, before letting out a longsuffering sigh and unfolding his feet out from under him, muttering something under his breath about tuna sandwiches as he stands up straight. “I doubt I’ll be able to locate anything,” he says, flexing his fingers. “But–” He swirls his hand, trailing orange sparks in the air as he forms a portal, revealing a different section of the ship. “I can shorten our travel time as we look.”

Peter looks absolutely delighted.

“You can make these portals all the time?” Peter calls back through the portal as he and Tony step through, leaving Strange in the command centre as they search through whatever random crevice of the ship Strange had found them. The room doesn’t look very promising, only a few blinking consoles and exposed piping to be seen.

“Yup,” Strange calls back shortly.

“Wow, I would never take transit to school again,” Peter mutters under his breath as he bends down to look under the console. Tony isn’t exactly sure what he expects to find down there, but his search proves fruitless, and soon he and the kid are back out again, waiting for Strange to open up a new portal for them.

To be honest, Tony is a little worried that they might not actually find anything to eat, given how empty and utilitarian this ship seems to be, but after a few tries, Strange opens a portal into a white square room, a silver table sitting in the middle, with glass panels set into the walls on the side.

“This looks promising,” Peter comments as they step through, and Tony can’t help nodding as he and the kid head over to examine the glass panelling. They sort of remind him of microwaves to be honest, but he suspects they are more designed for preservation, because when he and Peter pull one open, they are greeted with rows of neat little silver pouches.

“Do you think it’s food?” Peter asks hesitantly, his eyes glancing over the silver packets uncertainly. “I don’t want to open them and find a bunch of like, freeze-dried toes or something.”

Tony has to take a moment to blink away _that_ particular image, and he shakes his head, tapping on his nano-unit with one hand so that his suit encases him as he reaches for one of the silver pouches, his helmet materialising around his head and lighting up as he scans the bag.

“Looks edible to me,” he says, after a moment, his eyes flicking over the readout from his helm-display. All the chemicals seem familiar at least.

Peter seems to take him at his word, and he reaches up to grab a few more packets, turning to call in Strange as he moves to set them on the table. “We think we found something,” he says, as the doctor slips in through his portal, the man sporting his own skeptical look as he flicks his eyes over the haul.

“What is it?” he asks, drifting reluctantly towards the table and the pouches which Peter pushes in his direction.

“Food,” Tony replies, storing his suit back in the nano-unit and grabbing a packet as he settles down next to Peter at the table.

Strange purses his lips at that, but sits down, reaching for his own bag and tearing it open, sniffing dubiously at the contents.

“Tastes like chicken!” Peter announces, his mouth already full of the jerky like substance that he had found in his own packet. Tony’s mouth twitches up at that and he shakes his head. What ever his dried thing is, he doubts it is chicken, but at least he knows Peter’s metabolism should be able to handle whatever it is.

His own bag seems to have some sort of dried fruit in it, and his mouth twists at the sour taste. It isn’t bad, but it is certainly an acquired taste. They continue on like that, eating mostly in silence for a while, before he turns to Peter.

“So, does your Aunt know that you are in space?” he asks. “How much of an earful am I going to get when we get back?” Because they _are_ going to get back, and then Aunt May will most likely have _Words_ , for the both of them.

Beside him, Peter winces. “Uh, not exactly,” he says, fiddling a little with his bag. “But, she might have seen it on the news.”

Ah, right, the news. Tony imagines that the whole world knows by now that Iron Man and crew had been sucked up into space. Depending on the situation back there though, people might not be in a position to care very much about that.

 _Thanos won’t be on Earth yet though,_ he thinks. Thanos will come to Titan first, and they will stop him there. If all goes well, all Earth will ever have to worry about, will be the Children of Thanos.

Hopefully.

Across from him, Strange suddenly sits up, setting down his packet as he turns his head to look back towards the waiting portal. “The ship is slowing,” he announces. “I think we’re almost there.”

Tony casts one last look at Peter, before setting down his own food and squaring his shoulders. “Alright,” he says. “Showtime.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we got to see Peter and Tony on the ship. I enjoyed writing Peter’s character, and Tony’s reaction to seeing him there. He is understandably unenthused.
> 
> The movie doesn’t show how long they are on the ship for, but I think they deserve some time to rest and eat some food before they try to battle Thanos.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony meets... some allies?

They head back into the control room, the screen now showing a dusty wasteland filled with rock outcroppings and decayed ruins. Despite being the first alien planet Tony had ever visited, he finds the view can’t hold his gaze, because the ship itself doesn’t seem to be self-correcting anymore, their flightpath shifting and destabilising as they get closer and closer to the planet.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Peter asks, glancing worriedly at him and the view on screen zips wildly past.

“I think we’re here,” Strange comments from his position in front of the screen. ‘Here’ is a relative term, since the ship seems intent on _crashlanding_ on the planet, and Tony takes a step forward, his eyes darting over the foreign controls as the planet continues its rapid approach.

“I don’t think this rig has a self-park function,” he says tightly, speaking faster as their current danger becomes clearer. If they flew all the way to Titan, only to crash and _die_ — He darts over to the controls. “Get your hand into this steering gimbal,” he says to Peter, shoving his hand into the control casing and pushing against the clasps. “Close those around it.”

Peter’s eyes widen and he follows immediately, copying him as he puts his left hand into the steering device next to him, the ship beginning to shake as it enters the atmosphere. Tony glances desperately over the controls and his mind flashes back to the orc-alien he had fought back on Earth. He has a sinking feeling that these controls are custom made.

“Got it!” Peter announces to him, and he flicks his eyes back to Strange and the screen. The wizard’s face is strained and pale as he looks back at him, and Tony finds his heart making a valiant effort to climb up through his throat as the ship continues to shake under them.

He grits his teeth, and his hand tightens in the device as he looks back over at Peter. “This was meant for one big guy,” he warns, the words tumbling out of his mouth at top speed. “So we gotta move at the same time.”

“Okay, okay,” Peter replies back just as quickly, his eyes pinned to the screen. “Ready?”

_We better be,_ he thinks grimly, because the spaceship is showing no signs of slowing on its own, and the planet below is only getting closer and closer. By now, he can see the strange star-like ruins of buildings littering the ground below them, the prongs of each star sticking up into the air as they try to fly past.

It turns out that piloting a ship with two people using controls that are meant for one person is harder than it looks. The ship seems almost drawn to the star, and he grits his teeth as they sail closer, his hand clenching within the controls as he pulls on them.

“We might wanna turn,” Peter sputters frantically, his eyes wide as he pulls on his own controls. “Turn! _Turn! Turn!”_

Tony yanks on his controls, but he can tell from the screen that they are too slow, the course correction not enough to keep them from colliding with the arm of the star. His teeth clench and he suits up, his nanites crawling over him as the ship continues towards disaster. His helmet closes over his eyes, and his internal display has just enough time to freak out about an oncoming collision— when they hit.

He jerks forward at the impact, and his brain rattles around in his skull as his arm gets wrenched in the controls. The ground rumbles and his ears get overwhelmed as all around him, the ship shrieks and screams with the sound of tearing metal.

Thankfully, they don’t hit the star straight-on. Their turning efforts pay off a little as they glance off the tip of one of the star-points, sparks flying and alarms blaring as the back half of the ship simply disappears, torn away in the blink of an eye.

The command center they are in is spared most of the damage, but he knows that at this point, there is no hope of landing this thing properly— even if they knew how to do that. The ship isn’t stopping though, the whole thing continuing to shake and jolt around them as it plunges downwards.

The controls are probably useless by now, and Peter grunts next to him, his suit helmet coming up as well as he braces himself for the crash. Up front, Strange just barely manages to keep his balance, his arms waving as he constructs another one of his magic sigils, the orange rings expanding like a shield in front of them.

Tony isn’t exactly sure what the rings will do, but at this point, he is willing to put his faith into anything, if it will keep them from crashing and dying, and the rings whip around to form a protective sphere over the three of them, Strange’s stance holding steady and determined as the ground rushes up to greet them.

The landing goes well. If only to the extent that they are not dashed to pieces.

They don’t hit straight on, at least, but he is pretty sure the whole rest of the ship is gone. Thanks to Strange, the command center section manages to stay together, the whole thing shaking madly as they scrape along the ground, metal screeching torturously and dust flying up into the air.

Strange’s orange sphere flares brightly as the whole ship jolts abruptly, and Tony finds himself being torn out of the control harness, pain pulsing through his arm and shoulder as he gets flung to the ground, metal and sparks continuing to crash together in a cacophony of noise outside of Strange’s sphere.

The ship slides to a final halt as their forward momentum runs out, and the noise levels die down, leaving him to blink and scan his eyes over his suit readout, his breath panting harshly in his helmet as he mentally runs through a checkup of all his limbs, confirming he has all four in the right order.

He coughs as his helmet retracts back, and he finds Strange reaching for him, the orange glow of his protective sphere flicking out as he helps him to his feet.

“You alright?” he asks him between breaths. “That was close. I owe you one.”

Strange nods slightly and Tony flicks his eyes over him, confirming that he hadn't been hurt by the crash. He seems to have managed to keep his feet, and he doesn’t look injured, which is good, and Peter—

His eyes widen, and his head jerks to look beside him to where Peter had been – to where he _is not anymore_ – and he has just enough time to nearly triple his heartrate in worry, before he hears the quiet _thwip_ sound of Peter’s webshooters.

“Let me just say,” the kid announces as he hangs upside down, lowering himself spider-like from the ceiling, once again seemingly unconcerned by his near brush with death. “If aliens wind up implanting eggs in my chest or something, and I eat one of you. I’m sorry.”

Tony sucks in a breath, his mind still reeling from his recent onslaught of panic, in no place at all to try to follow Peter’s train of logic, or really process his statement at all. He blinks as he tries to get his heartrate back into normal parameters, and he points at Peter.

“I don’t wanna here another, single pop culture reference out of you for the rest of the trip, you understand?” he says, because he can’t exactly order the kid to stop scaring him like that again, but he can address whatever it was that he just said.

Peter, of course, decides to throw him another curve ball. “I’m trying to say that something is coming,” he replies quickly, pointing behind him into the wreckage of the ship, and Tony doesn’t even have time to wonder how on _Earth_ Peter’s previous statement could have been implying that, before his ears pick up the deceptively innocent sound of metal rolling on metal, and a grenade rolls between his feet.

He thinks he can probably say that this day is turning out to be one of the worst days of his life.

The grenade doesn’t kill them, which he supposes is a plus, but he doesn’t have time to react before it throws out an energy pulse and sends them all flying back, his vision spinning madly and his helmet clicking up around him as he tumbles madly through the wreckage, adding more bruises to his growing collection.

He lands with a groan and a clang of metal, but above everything else, he is still able to hear an enraged cry echoing through the remains of the ship.

“ _THANOS!!!”_ a deep voice bellows, and he blinks, shaking his head in an attempt to focus as he pushes himself to his knees. He… doesn’t know what to make of that yell.

_Please don’t let it be more Children of Thanos,_ he thinks desperately.

So far, their trip to Titan has been less catching-Thanos-off-guard, and more trying-not-to-die-six-times-in-a-row. If more Children of Thanos are here already, ready to steal the Time Stone before he and Strange even get a _chance_ to plan some kind of attack…

Well, he doesn’t really have time to worry about that, because Children of Thanos or not, the attackers are going after them, and they aren't holding back. His helm lights up as he glances around, targeting symbols flicking into view as he identifies his assailants.

Strange is busy dealing with the loud, yelling _shirtless_ one, and he doesn’t know where Peter is, but he doesn’t have time to try to find the kid because another enemy comes swooping into his view, a man with a blaster gun and a jetpack.

He looks different than the rest of Thanos’ children, although he can’t see much of the man’s face because he has some sort of helmet or mask over it. His intentions are pretty clear though as he blasts forward, firing laser rounds from his blaster at him amid the wreckage.

_Alright Boba Fett,_ he thinks as he grits his teeth and pushes himself up, firing back with his repulsors as he ignites his thrusters and follows in pursuit of the jetpack attacker. The man is agile, leading him on a chase through the collapsed scaffolding of the ship as they exchange firepower.

Below, he can see the shirtless one struggling with Strange’s cape, but he doesn’t pay it much attention, focusing instead on aiming and firing a missile at the slippery Boba Fett impersonator. The man spirals out of the way, an explosion rocketing the already wrecked ship as the man gets blasted back by the fireball.

Tony doesn’t have time to duck away as Boba Fett comes tumbling back at him, and they collide midair, the two of them spinning madly as they spiral through the air. The thrusters of his suit whine irritably, and Tony finds his jaw clenching almost painfully tight as he tries to find something to grab on to so that he can throw the man off of him.

He finally manages it, yanking Boba Fett off with enough force to hurl him onto a nearby platform. With the extra weight gone, he is able to stabilise, his eyes narrowing as he stares down the man and raises his repulsors.

Boba Fett only laughs.

Too late, he looks down and sees some kind of triangle device attached to his suit. He barely has time to even look at it – let _alone_ try to deal with it – before Boba Fett is pressing a remote in his hand, and he finds himself getting jerked to the side, the device magnetically locking itself onto a nearby pillar.

The internal diagnostics of his suit go haywire, and he grunts irritably as he tries to pull himself off the metal scaffolding. His suit whines with the strain, and the device doesn’t give, leaving him to watch helplessly as Boba Fett turns from him to go after Peter, the kid in the midst of his own battle with some kind of woman with glowing antenna on her head.

Peter manages to shoot his webs at her to tie her up, but Boba Fett comes up behind him, forcing the kid to use his Spider-Legs to get away from his blaster fire. Back at the pillar, Tony grits his teeth and strains against the magnetic device, mentally cursing whoever is attacking them while darting his eyes around in a frantic search for Strange.

He knows the man had said he would choose the stone over Peter if Thanos were in the picture, but surely right now he could step in—

Above him, Peter tries to leap away from Boba Fett, but he gets trapped instead as the man throws some kind of electric wire at him. Peter screams in pain as he falls, and the sound gives him the push he needs to finally tear himself away from the pillar, red filling his vision as he tunnel-visions onto Peter.

Several things happen at once.

Boba Fett goes after Peter as he falls, and Tony knows instinctively that he will not have enough time to stop him before he gets to the kid. But, a few feet away, he notices the shirtless alien still struggling with Strange’s cloak, and he flies for the guy, the barest threads of a plan forming in his mind.

He reaches the man just as he manages to pull the cloak away, and he plants his foot on the guy’s chest, aiming down at him with his repulsor and looking around wildly as Strange finally shows up, his cloak flying to him as he pulls up an orange defense sigil, his eyes darting between him and Boba Fett.

Tony looks at him too, and his stomach drops at the sight of Peter in a headlock, the man’s blaster two inches from the side of his head.

His heart is in his throat at this point, his mind hardly able to focus enough to keep his foot on the shirtless alien as he stands, his eyes completely focused on Peter as his brain helpfully flashes through the odds of his survival.

He has the Iron-Spider helmet on so maybe—

“Alright, everyone, stay where you are,” Boba Fett orders slowly, glancing over him and his team. He reaches up for a moment to retract his face-shield, and Tony catches sight of his face for the first time, his humanlike features strikingly different from the other Children of Thanos he had met.

Not that he really cares right now, since he has a _gun_ on _Peter._

“I’m gonna ask you this one time,” Boba Fett continues, aiming the gun towards him this time. “Where’s Gamora?”

_What—?_ Tony’s brain sputters, barely able to think straight between his fear and confusion. He doesn’t _have time for this_.

“Yeah, I’ll do you one better,” he bites back, his own helmet retracting so that he can shout at the man. “ _Who’s_ Gamora?”

Their attackers continue to mind-boggle him as, instead of answering, the one under him grunts and growls up at him, “I’ll do _you_ one better. _Why_ is Gamora?”

He doesn’t even have time to _try_ to figure out what the man could _possibly_ mean by that, because Boba Fett calls his attention back to him, his voice dead serious as he asks after someone he has absolutely _no idea about_.

“Tell me where the girl is,” he insists, his gun going back to Peter. “Or I swear to you, I’m gonna French-fry this little freak.”

Tony’s mind leaps up in sharp horror at that, and he can’t quite keep the note of fear out of his voice as he responds, his repulsor transforming into a nano-canon as he aims it menacingly at the alien under him. “Let’s do it,” he says, his voice tight and strained. “You shoot my guy, I blast him. Let’s go!”

He doesn’t really know if Boba Fett will even care if he blasts his partner. Considering what he has seen with the Children of Thanos so far, he would not be surprised if they have no regard for each other’s safety at all. He can’t say the same for Peter and himself though, just the _thought_ of Boba Fett shooting him over some girl he doesn’t even know throws his mind into over-gear.

“Do it Quill!” the alien under him shouts defiantly. “I can take it!”

For a half-second he worries that the guy under him might _actually_ be able to take a blast to the face — he has no idea who this guy is, maybe there are aliens out there who can take blaster wounds no problem, maybe that is why he doesn’t have any armour—

But then the antenna-girl cries out, “No, he can’t take it!”

Her words at least indicate that the group will care if he kills the shirtless alien (and that his blaster will have an effect), and Strange corroborates her statement completely deadpan, his eyes glancing analytically over the scene.

‘Quill’ is less calm. “Oh yeah?” he counters, his eyes bright as he looks at him. “You don’t wanna tell me where she is? That’s _fine._ I’ll kill all three of you,” he continues, his expression growing wilder as he talks. “I’ll beat it out of Thanos myself!” he bites out, jerking Peter slightly in his chokehold. “Starting with you.”

Tony's eyes widen, but Strange cuts in before he can say anything. “Wait, what?” he sputters. “Thanos?” His eyes dart over the scene, and he draws his shoulders together. “Alright,” he says, a forced note of calm in his voice. “Let me ask _you_ this one time: What master do you serve?”

Quill’s face screws up incredulously as he looks over at Strange, obviously not impressed by the question. “What master do I serve?” he retorts, a sharp smile on his face. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Jesus’?”

At his words, a _massive lightbulb dawns,_ and Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes back into his skull. He can’t be sure of most things, but, he is pretty sure that ‘Jesus’ is a pretty local reference. “You’re from Earth?” he accuses, staring at the man.

Quill scowls at him, his gun still on Peter. “I’m not from Earth,” he bites back. “I’m from Missouri.”

“Yeah, that’s _on Earth_ ,” he counters sharply, exhaustion and stress not doing much for his mood, or his diplomatic skills. In front of him, Quill looks absolutely bewildered by his claim, and Tony knows that some of his tiredness seeps into his next words. “What are you hassling _us_ for?”

Peter shifts in Quill’s arms, and somehow manages to sound slightly disappointed as he speaks up. “So, you’re not with Thanos?”

Quill’s face twists and he looks absolutely offended as he responds. “ _With_ Thanos?!” he repeats, glancing down at Peter. “No… I’m here to kill Thanos! He took my girl– Wait—” He lowers his gun, his confusion outweighing his initial hostility. “Who are you?”

In his arms, Peter retracts his helmet and flicks his eyes up to him, his brow furled in his own mix of disappointment and offence. “We’re the Avengers, man,” he says, as if everyone in the entire universe should know about some random defense team back on Earth.

“Oh.” Quill huffs and pulls away, looking almost irritable as he drops his arm from around Peter, shaking his head at the fact that his shamble of an attack hadn't managed to corner any _actual_ Children of Thanos.

Tony finds his hackles lowering slightly as Peter steps away from Quill, the kid slipping out of immediate danger (although he thinks he could stand to move a _little_ farther away), and he pulls his own gun away from the alien back on the ground.

Back behind Quill, antenna-girl gives a sort of excited jump, calling his attention over to her, his eyes flicking over the remains of Peter’s webs still pinning her arms to her side. “You’re the ones Thor told us about!” she announces, and Tony blinks.

Apparently, they _do_ know who the Avengers are.

oOo

“Thor isn’t dead?” he asks Quill (who introduces himself as Star-Lord.) By now, they have all moved outside of the broken ship, the ruins of Titan towering around them in the dusty orange landscape.

Quill shakes his head. “We thought he was,” he says, his hands clasped cowboy-like on his belt. “We found him adrift in space. There was like, a bunch of wreckage and stuff. That’s when we found out about what Thanos was doing.”

Tony nods, and Quill continues to explain that Thanos had indeed managed to kill Loki, as well as most of the other Asgardians. “Thor and some of the rest of my crew went off to go build some sort of Thanos-killing weapon or something, and _we_ went to go after Thanos,” he says. “But then he took the Reality Stone and Gamora, and then her sister Nebula signaled us to come here.”

Tony still doesn’t know much about Gamora, besides the fact that she is part of Quill’s crew (possibly his girlfriend?), but the news of Thor’s survival is a welcome relief. Not only is it relieving to know that one of his friends is still alive, but the fact that Thor knows about Thanos, and is apparently working to try to kill him, is another substantial comfort.

Of course, Thor might never get the chance to personally go after Thanos, if all goes well on Titan. 

“So Thanos is definitely coming here,” he mutters under his breath as Quill turns away, the man beginning to scan the planet, commenting something about the strange gravitational pull and the tilt of its axis. His statement is corroborated as, in the background, Tony watches antenna-girl (Mantis apparently), jumping gleefully in a low gravity spot.

He stares at her for a moment, trying to equate her carefree actions to the impending doom coming their way.

To be honest, Quill’s crew isn’t exactly… the kind of team he is used to working with. But they need to plan for Thanos’ attack, and they are better than nothing.

Probably.

After a full five minutes of arguing over the simple need to even _have_ a plan, he is beginning to reconsider.

_Is this what Steve went through, when he was leading the Avengers?_ he thinks numbly, his eyes glazed as he stares into the distance, slowly coming to terms with the fact that he might very well die on a random planet in the midst of the most scatter-brained collection of vigilantes he has ever come across.

The Avengers could never have been this bad. Sure, before the Accords had come in to break up the team, he would _sometimes_ still charge into battle with a not-Steve-sanctioned-plan, and Clint would _sometimes_ instigate a prank war that would take over the entire base, and there is _still_ a mark on the ceiling from that time Sam had left his pressure cooker unattended…

But surely Steve’s job had been easier than this.

He blinks and pulls himself back to the present. “Alright, just, get over here, please,” he starts off tiredly, looking over at Quill. “Mr. Lord? Can you get your folks to circle up?”

Quill informs him of the correct iteration of his name (as if Star-Lord makes more sense than what he had been saying), and he at least manages to get the others to come closer so they can plan. Peter comes closer too, and Tony sucks in a breath as he tries to herd them all into _relatively_ the same direction.

“Look, Thanos is coming, and we need to coalesce,” he says, glancing over the group. “Cuz if all we come at him with is a plucky attitude—”

“Dude,” Quill cuts in, shaking his head. “Don’t call us plucky. We don’t know what it means.” Tony opens his mouth, but Quill continues along the same vein as before. “Alright, we’re optimistic, yes,” he says, his hands raising as he gets further into whatever idea that had just spawned in his brain. “I like your plan. Except, it sucks–” Tony is pretty sure he can physically _feel_ his blood pressure rising at this point. “–so let _me_ do the plan, and that way, it might be really good.”

To be honest, if Peter were to speak up right now, and suggest another plan based off of movie tactics, Tony would 100% trust that plan more than whatever Quill is trying to come up with.

Drax – the shirtless alien from before – speaks up instead, and just further confirms his conclusions. “Tell him about the dance-off to save the universe,” he says excitedly, as if that will somehow inspire confidence in the team.

“What dance-off?” he says quickly, glancing back over at Quill.

The man at least seems to be aware of how the phrase must make him look, seeming more reluctant to talk about it than his crew. “It’s not a… it’s not… it’s nothing,” he sputters, before Peter jumps in, his face screwed up in confusion.

“Like in _Footloose_ , the movie?” he says incredulously, and Quill drops his cagey attitude, lighting up immediately as he looks over at Peter.

“Exactly like _Footloose_ ,” he breathes. “Is it still the greatest movie in history?”

Peter is looking increasingly lost. “It never was,” he says dazedly, and Tony realises they are losing the thread of the conversation again. He tries to pull it back, but he is coming to the growing realisation that staying on topic is simply impossible for this group, and his attempts to plan – amid Quill’s mindboggling math assertions – are once again interrupted, this time by Mantis.

“Excuse me,” she says, craning her head to look at him wide-eyed. “But… does your friend often _do_ that?” She points off to the side, and he turns his head to follow, catching sight of Strange floating cross-legged several feet away.

Ordinarily, he might feel annoyed at the fact that Strange has so far avoided trying to herd the collection of cats that is Quill’s team, but the man seems to be rather… busy.

He isn’t exactly sure what he is doing, but the Time Stone glows on his chest, green vapor-like energy flowing out around him as sigils wrap around his forearms. Most disconcertingly, his eyes remain closed and his head jerks around, blurring rapidly as it jolts from side to side, as if he were some sort of horror ghost-child in a movie.

“Strange… we alright?” he calls, his eyes darting over the scene. He is _assuming_ that this is some sort of, magic-wizard-thing that is _supposed_ to be happening, but he really doesn’t know, and if Strange is having trouble with the Time Stone, then they are _really_ hooped.

Strange doesn’t snap out of it, and he finds himself drifting closer, the blurring of Strange’s head seeming to get faster and more frantic. All at once, he jerks out of it, letting out a cry of shock as the green mist dissipates and he falls to the ground, his eyes darting about wildly as he breathes.

Tony instinctively reaches forward to catch him, dropping down to one knee as he darts his eyes over the man. “You’re back. You’re alright,” he says instantly, knowing from experience how disconcerting it is to wake up to reality after being _somewhere else_ for a while. (He pushes away the thought of Pepper, who had usually been the one to help him through his episodes, his words to Strange echoing the ones she would say.)

In front of him, Strange sucks in a breath, his eyes growing clearer as he breathes in and looks them over. “What was that?” Peter calls, and Strange pulls in a few more breaths as he looks over to the kid.

“I went forward in time to view alternate futures,” he says breathlessly, sitting up as he slowly begins to regain some of his composure. “To see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict.”

Tony blinks at his statement, and he stares at him, trying to comprehend what that would have been like. He can’t imagine seeing all the possible future outcomes… watching every way that things could go wrong…

“How many did you see?” Quill asks, the man and his crew apparently well enough acquainted with weird that they don’t question Strange’s claim at all.

Strange takes in a slow breath, a look of seriousness coming over his face as he looks at Quill. “Fourteen million, six hundred and five,” he says plainly.

Tony flicks his eyes over him, unease settling in his gut. “How many did we win?” he asks quietly.

Strange’s eyes drop down to him, and he stares intently into his eyes. His lips press together, and he breathes in. “One,” he says, his voice loud in the sudden silence.

Okay, so, odds are not exactly in their favour.

To be fair, they technically still have way more than a billion-to-one chance, so, there is that.

After his ominous announcement, Strange claims that he can’t tell them everything that will happen – or else he risks influencing the timeline – but he can help them plan their attack on Thanos.

With Strange’s timeline-viewing authority, they actually manage to come up with a plan, that, according to Strange, _should_ work. So, after that, all they have left to do… is wait for Thanos to arrive.

Fun times.

Tony finds he has far too much time on his hands to think as he sits on some of the ruins and watches Peter and Mantis amuse themselves with the low gravity of the planet. As he watches, he can’t help thinking about his decision to come to Titan at all, and the fact that Peter is here with him.

The odds of them winning are so low… he can’t help wondering if things would have been different if he hadn't insisted that they come to Titan. Would Peter be safer if he had turned around when they had the chance?

What about his alternate-self? What had he done? He had had the time-machine, right? What if he had built that, instead of his nano-suit? Would he be traveling timelines, looking for the infinity stones right now, rather than waiting here on an alien planet for Thanos?

There is no way of knowing, but he can’t help the seed of guilt that springs up in his stomach at the idea that he possibly could have prevented all this. He tries to squash the thought almost as soon as it takes place though, giving his head a shake as he reminds himself about Judith’s mantra throughout his years of therapy.

_Blaming yourself for what-ifs and maybes will not help anybody._

There is no point in wondering what could have happened, or what _did_ happen in the alternate-timeline, because he is _here,_ and he is living _this_ timeline, with the choices that he is making _now._

Yes.

Despite his best efforts, he probably would have continued his circular train of thought, if Quill hadn't come up to sit next to him, stretching his legs out and giving a sigh as he leans back, his hands clasped on his belt. “So,” he starts off abruptly. “Whaddya think of this plan? Think it’ll work?”

He huffs out a breath and sits up slightly. “Well, it’s better than a dance-off,” he quips, drawing a smile and an eyeroll from Quill.

“Hey man,” he protests, waving a hand. “The dance-off was more of a distraction. And it worked too! I was just trying to keep one of those stone thingys away from one of Thanos’ goons.”

Tony blinks and looks over at him. “You kept one of Thanos’ Children away from a stone?” he asks, unable to keep the incredulous note out of his voice.

Quill doesn’t seem bothered by his skepticism. “I know, crazy right?” he says, a smile of disbelief on his face. “It was a few years ago now, but this guy was trying to go kill everyone with the stone, and that’s how we met Gamora. She used to be one of Thanos’ daughters.”

Tony blinks at that, and Quill goes on to explain how Gamora had cut ties with her adopted father, and how _he_ had had to eventually physically try to keep the Power Stone out of the hands of one of Thanos’ minions.

“Apparently, if I wasn’t half-human, I would have died pretty quick,” he says nonchalantly. “As it was, the other Guardians linked hands to save me, spreading out the power or something, so that we wouldn’t die.”

Tony's lips press together, and he glances over Quill, and then up to the rest of his crew. He isn’t sure how many people ‘the Guardians’ consists of, but if Quill had needed multiple people just to hold the power of _one_ stone for a few seconds…

“Thanos already holds three stones— four if Strange is correct about the Soul Stone,” he murmurs quietly, the reality of his situation crashing down on him. “To even be able to do that— the kind of power he would need…”

Strange’s odds of survival are starting to make _far_ too much sense. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Guardians make their abrupt entrance! It was fun writing Tony’s POV of the attack. More nicknames! And more Peter being far to casual with mortal danger! 
> 
> Also, I do wonder how long they waited on that planet before Thanos came, that would be nerve-wracking. 
> 
> Also, one of my lovely readers, Lia Whyteleafe, made a TVtropes for this AU! You can find and add to it here:  
> The Alternate Timeline [TVtropes](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/TheAlternateTimeline)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thanos arrives.

Tony doesn’t really know what to make of Quill’s team. Watching them interact with each other and Peter as they wait for Thanos highlights the ramshackle _mess_ that they seem to be… but he is self-aware enough to admit that he has had similar periods in his life, and apparently they _had_ managed to save the universe from the Power Stone at some point, so their tactics aren’t _completely_ ridiculous.

And besides, Peter seems to like them.

“How do you _do_ that?” Mantis cries, her eyes wide as she watches Peter show off with his Spider-Legs, the kid leaping around agilely in the low gravity. “You are without the creepy-legs, and then suddenly you are very creepy,” she continues, miming with her hands how the legs burst out of the back of Peter’s suit.

“Pretty cool, right?” he says, a smile on his face as he lands back beside her, his legs retracting into his back as he glances over to where Tony is watching. “It’s a new suit actually,” he says, gesturing for her to follow as he comes up to stand next to him. “Mr. Stark made it for me.”

Mantis glances at him, her eyes bright with curiosity, and Tony can’t help the slight smile her expression brings, her behaviour reminding him of Scott’s daughter, Cassie, on the times when the girl had been allowed into his lab. He had spent several content afternoons entertaining her along with his bots as he had shown off his tech.

The memory of Cassie and their time together is probably why he lifts his hand, letting the nanites of his suit peel back for her to see. “It’s new tech for me too,” he finds himself explaining to Mantis’ gasp of amazement. “It’s a bunch of little bots that I control with—”

He cuts off as Mantis grabs excitedly for his hand, her cold fingers wrapping around his as she stares at the rippling edges of his gauntlet. He blinks at the sudden touch, before he watches as her eyes widen, the antenna on her head suddenly glowing as she looks up at him, her mouth open.

“Oh,” she breathes. “You feel _much_.”

Too late, he remembers that she is an empath, and he stiffens, Mantis’ dark eyes flicking over him as her hands tighten on his. “So much worry,” she says dazedly. “But not for yourself, for your friends— your mind goes so fast—”

He pulls his hand away and takes an abrupt step back, his heart picking up in pace a little as he looks at Mantis, trying not to think too hard about Peter standing next to her. “Uh, don’t do that,” he says awkwardly, trying to aim for a light tone as he flexes his hand and breathes, the feel of her fingers lingering disconcertingly as his suit closes over him again.

“Oh. You did not like that.” Mantis pulls away, her hands drawing up to her chest. “I am sorry,” she says, her eyes wide again as she nods solemnly. “I am still learning about people. I do not touch Gamora either, so she does not break my jaw.”

Tony stares at her, not quite sure what to make of her manner, or actions. While he hadn't really appreciated her empathic reading, he can tell that she hadn't really _meant_ to touch him, she had been more interested in his nanites, and had just happened to touch him at the same time. With that in mind, he tries to let it go, shrugging his shoulder in forgiveness at her, and internally hoping that Peter won’t think too much on what she had actually _said_.

_So much worry._

Of course he is worried. But he is supposed to be the adult here. He is supposed to know what he is doing, so Peter won’t have to worry like him.

From the looks of it, Peter doesn’t seem overly bothered by what Mantis had revealed, but he does stick around after she leaves, his eyes a little distant as he looks over the ruins around them. His gaze darts over to him for a second, before flicking down to the hand Mantis had grabbed, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips, seeming to work himself up to something.

“Mr. Stark…” he starts slowly, darting his eyes up to meet his own. “What do you think— back on Earth, do you think everyone is okay?”

Tony glances at him quickly, noting his vulnerable expression as he is suddenly reminded all over again that, no matter Peter’s willingness for this mission, he is still a _kid_ , and it is therefore perfectly natural for him to be worried for his friends back on Earth too.

Of course, it is his job to try to help him deal with that.

“Yeah,” he says confidently. “’Course they are. Thanos is coming here first, so we can stop him before he even gets to Earth. And as for the goons we left behind, I’m sure Steve and his crew can take care of them.”

Peter’s eyes brighten immediately, his worry pushed to the side for the moment as he grows excited. “Captain Rogers joined the team again?” he says, a smile breaking out on his face. “That's so awesome! Do you think the rest of the Avengers will come together again too?”

Tony nods at him. “Definitely,” he says, a note of gravity entering his voice. Peter doesn’t seem to notice though, the teen currently too preoccupied with the reunification of his favourite defense team to pay anything else any mind.

“I guess the Accords seem kind of ridiculous right now,” he comments, and Tony nods. He can’t be sure what is happening back on Earth, but he knows for a _fact_ that Steve and the others will be there fighting, no matter _what_ Ross has to say.

Thanos and his threat to the universe is much bigger than any kind of Accords.

oOo

The wait for Thanos is as long and torturous as waiting for paint to dry, or for extremely dangerous water to boil. There isn’t much to do on the planet, besides go over the plan again— which Quill’s crew finds extremely boring— so eventually Tony gives up on that. Instead he is left to his own devices, worry eating away at his gut as he watches the others, and they wait for Thanos. 

But then, suddenly the wait is over.

“Thanos is coming,” Strange announces, orange sigils flickering out as he opens his eyes and looks up to the sky, his words sending a chill down Tony’s spine. Even the Guardians are a little subdued by his words, their faces somber as they glance towards him, their upcoming battle suddenly too close for comfort.

Tony breathes in and lifts his chin, the feel of his engagement ring pressing against his gauntlet as he clenches his fist. “Alright,” he tells them, his voice calm, but blunt. “It’s showtime everyone, let’s go.”

The plan is for Strange to meet Thanos first, since the Titan will be expecting him. The destroyed donut ship is a little hard to cover up, so there is no way of hiding Strange’s escape from Squidward’s grasp— but as far as they know, Thanos doesn’t know about the rest of them, which gives them the advantage.

A part of Tony wishes that Peter could stick with him for the plan, so that he could keep an eye on the kid, but given the fact that he doesn’t have any flight capabilities, the idea is kind of pointless. As it is, he leaves him to hide, igniting his thrusters to blast off to one of the floating chunks of wreckage that seem to litter the desolated planet.

The rest of the group breaks off into their hiding spots, and from above, Tony watches as Strange settles himself down onto some dilapidated steps, his hands placed calmly on his knees as he waits for Thanos to arrive.

He comes in a cloud of blue smoke.

Tony watches wide-eyed as the cloud sparks up from nothing, swirling around ominously in the air in dark plumes— the scene an exact reflection of the moment when Loki had used the Tesseract to escape, six years ago.

Honestly, that is just cheating.

A figure steps through the artificial portal and the smoke dissipates, affording Tony his first real glimpse of the infamous Mad Titan.

 _He certainly lives up to the ‘Titan’_ _part, I supposed_ , he thinks as he darts his eyes over his helm-display of the alien. Thanos is huge, standing taller than the Hulk as he looks over the wreckage of Squidward’s ship, a heavy golden gauntlet on his left hand.

 _“I wasn’t expecting purple_ ,” Peter whispers into the comms, his voice barely a hiss as the teen crouches stealthily on some kind of ruined rooftop below. Despite the situation, Tony finds his mouth flicking up into a half-smile, and he pushes himself over slightly so that he can see past his floating hunk of metal and watch as Thanos steps closer to Strange.

The pair are too far away for him to hear naturally, and Strange doesn’t have a comm unit, so he doesn’t actually know what they are saying to each other… which means all he can do is wait for Strange. His lips press together, and he sucks in a breath. All he needs to do is wait for the signal. He can do that.

Down below, Thanos raises his gauntlet hand, and Tony tenses, but Strange doesn’t move, and he forces himself to wait, watching wide-eyed as a line of red bursts out from the gauntlet and sweeps over the desolate landscape.

In its wake, a sudden scene of greenery and prosperity lights up before him, and he stares open-mouthed at what he can only assume must be the Titan of the past. The scene fades away, back to the dusty orange devastation from before, and he finds his eyes drawn to the red stone on Thanos’ gauntlet.

Reality Stone indeed.

The thought of trying to fight someone who can control even the fabric of reality is intimidating, he will admit. But. He will do it. Because it needs to be done, and, if they are lucky, then maybe they can protect Earth from this overpowered madman.

That decided, he sets his jaw and watches as Strange finally stands up, his mouth moving in a final declaration to Thanos as he settles back into a fighting stance, his arms moving sharply as he activates his orange defense sigils, the intricate symbols circulating in front of both his fists and signalling to Tony to join the party.

Thanks to the weird gravity of the planet, it only really takes one great heave for him to get the floating wreckage moving, and after that, it is all a matter of directing it down as fast as possible, wind whipping past his helmet as he and the hulking debris speed down to land with a resounding _crash_ — directly on top of Thanos.

The ground shakes with the impact and Tony can’t help a satisfied smile at the successful surprise attack. “Piece of cake, Quill,” he says, the Guardian coming out of his hiding place a few feet away as they move on to the next phase of their plan.

“Sure,” the man says, activating his helmet as he gets ready to blast off after him. “If your goal was to piss him off!”

Quill’s assertion proves to be correct, because as Tony comes to hover outside of the towering wreck, the whole thing erupts in a sudden cloud of purple smoke. His arms draw up instinctively to block his face and his eyes widen as he watches the thing come apart into pieces, Thanos standing in the middle, his mouth open in a yell as the gauntlet in his hand shifts from a dark glowing purple, to a bright ruby red.

Thanos’ eyes narrow as he swipes his hand through the air— and the debris metamorphosizes itself into a flock of bats. Or birds, or butterflies. Something like that. They fly straight at him and he is a little too busy being attacked to really pay attention to anything beyond the fact that there are many of them, and they can fly.

He gives a choked off cry of surprise as the swarm descends on him, his arms flailing uselessly in front of his face as he is forced backwards, the swarm pulling him back into the ruins and reinforcing the difficulty of the fight in front of him. Thanos can control literally everything. How are they supposed to fight that?

 _We_ do _have a chance,_ he reminds himself a little desperately as he struggles to free himself from the assault. He has to remember that. No matter how slim, they _do_ have a chance.

Of course, right _now_ he has to deal with a swarm of blasted _bats/birds/butterflies,_ and he finds they are harder to combat than one would think. The swarm forces him back and away from the fight, his suit crashing through several ruins and furthering the destruction on Titan as he struggles to shake them off.

Through his comm connection to Peter, he can hear the others fighting, and he grits his teeth as he flicks through his defense options on his helm-display. “Alright, try _this_ on for a size,” he mutters as he selects his choice and watches his helm-display switch gears.

 **Preparing Electric Discharge** , it flashes at him, a low whine filling his ears as his suit builds up an excess electric charge, blue energy crackling around him as it prepares to deploy. The energy reaches its climax, and an instant later it discharges, white and blue energy bursting of him in a bright shockwave firing in all directions, the cloud of bats/birds/butterflies dispersing almost instantly.

He lets out a breath as it finishes, panting slightly as he flicks his eyes over his suit readout, checking for any damages or critical failures after the powerful attack. The readout gives him the all-clear, and he casts a quick glance around to reorientate himself, before activating his thrusters and blasting off, shooting above the ruins and aiming back towards the scene of the fight.

 _“Insect!”_ he hears Thanos shout through Peter’s comm, and his heart constricts in his chest as he urges his suit to go faster, worry for Peter swarming his brain as he rushes forward.

As he approaches, he doesn’t see Peter, instead, he sees Thanos throw Strange off of him, the man tumbling through the ruins as Thanos reaches down to tear his cloak away from his gauntlet.

 _Don’t let Thanos close his fist,_ Strange had told them, when they had been preparing for the battle, and Tony grits his teeth, his targeting system flashing on his helm as he arms and prepares to fire a barrage of missiles at the Titan.

He lets them fly, and the bombs erupt like a fiery furnace, ingulfing Thanos in a boiling hot ball of flame as he swoops closer, his eyes flicking over the scene before beginning a scan for Peter.

He doesn’t get far.

Thanos uses his stones again, and Tony watches with a sinking heart as the flames from the bombs are drawn together. His eyes widen as the fire spins up into a sphere above Thanos’ head, the Titan’s face a mask of concentration as he manipulates the flames— and then shoots them off in a fiery bolt right back at him.

The flames hit him square in the chest. His suit protects him from the heat, but nothing he can do prevents him from getting blasted backwards, _again._

He is getting a little tired of being catapulted through space and _through buildings._

He groans as he lands, the sounds of collapsing wreckage filling his ears as the debris weakened by his crashlanding begin to fall apart. His head spins as he gasps for breath, his ears ringing. He coughs, and there is definitely blood in his mouth as he shakily forces himself to his feet.

He is pretty sure the blood is from a cut on his cheek, and not internal bleeding, and his suit seems to have protected him from everything but a few bruises, so, he is fine.

His head protests that fact, a headache sparking behind his eyes as he sucks in a breath and scans the area. He can hear the others fighting Thanos again, and he needs to get back to them so—

A sudden deafening crash fills the air, and he looks up to the sound of screeching metal, watching stunned as – back on the battlefield – a _spaceship_ comes sweeping in, catching everyone off guard as it barrels down on Thanos and drags him along in a crashlanding.

“ _What’s that?!”_ Peter shouts into the comms, and Tony can only shake his head, his mind spinning as he sucks in a breath and mentally prepares to enter the fight again. The spaceship is unexpected, but, judging from the fact that it had bulldozed Thanos… he is willing to bet that it is friendly.

He doesn’t remember Strange having mentioned this in the plan though, and he wonders what _else_ the man had deigned to leave out, in the effort to prevent them from messing up the timeline all on their own.

“ _It's Nebula!”_ he hears Quill shout, the man close enough to Peter to be picked up through the comms _. “She’s Gamora’s sister!”_

Tony can’t see much of this ‘Nebula’ for the moment, but he does remember Quill mentioning how they had been advised to come here by the woman, and as he activates his thrusters and prepares to join back in, he can see the blue, cybernetic lady teaming up with the others as they try to take down Thanos.

It almost looks like it will work.

As he arrives, he can see Quill has pinned Thanos’ right hand to the ground with some kind of electronic device, while Strange has the gauntlet wrapped up in red bands of magic. The strands keep the Titan from closing his fist as Peter drags him backwards and off balance with his webs, while Drax takes out his knee.

His heart surges with hope at the scene, and he swoops in as Strange opens a portal above Thanos’ head, Mantis dropping through, the fight now deemed safe enough for her to come in. She lands heavily on his shoulders, and her hands wrap around his head instantly as she works on putting him under, her antenna flaring white with the effort.

 _It's going to plan_ , he thinks dazedly as he darts in, something breathless rising in his chest as he reaches to pull off Strange’s magic bands so that he can yank at the gauntlet. A part of him honestly hadn't thought they would get this far, but things _are_ going to plan, just like Strange had wanted—

In front of him, Strange whips around to reapply his crimson bands to Thanos’ other hand, and the Titan himself lets out a cry, his eyes misting over as Mantis works on him and Tony continues to try to wrestle the gauntlet off of him.

“Is he under?” he asks tightly as he pulls, his eyes flicking to Mantis. “Don’t let up.”

On Thanos’ shoulders, Mantis doesn’t look so good, her face screwing up in pain as she keeps her hands on the sides of his head, tears beginning to slip down her cheeks at the effort. “Be quick,” she gasps thinly. “He is very strong.”

Tony’s chest squeezes at the danger of their situation. They _need_ to succeed here. But Thanos is barely being held down by all of them, and if they are too slow and Mantis loses her hold on him…

“Parker, help!” he calls sharply, calling the teen over as he tugs harder on the gauntlet. “She can’t hold him much longer. Let’s go!” Peter lets up on his webs and comes over immediately, reaching up with him to yank at the gauntlet, trying to get it to slip free.

It barely gives, the metal seemingly glued to the Titan’s hand, and as he pulls, Tony catches sight of Quill swooping in on his jetpack, the man landing with a smug, vindictive look on his face as he stares down at Thanos.

“I thought you’d be harder to catch,” he taunts, his eyes lighting up with a fervor as he comes closer. “Not so strong now, huh?” His face twists down into a scowl as he leans in close and stares down into Thanos’ grimace. “Where is Gamora?”

Tony will admit that he isn’t paying much attention to the conversation in front of him, his mind more focused on the gauntlet and the difficulty of removing it. From what he can tell, this Gamora person seems to be very important to the Guardians, and the fact that Thanos had come to Titan _without_ her probably isn’t a good sign… but he has more important things to worry about.

Unfortunately, Mantis does not have that luxury, her eyes squeezing shut as she deals with the influx of another’s emotions. “He is in anguish,” she gets out, in between pants, her eyes opening wide at the shock of the feelings.

“Good,” Quill spits, and Mantis sucks in a breath, her eyes staring vacantly ahead.

“He… he _mourns,_ ” she says quietly, still trapped in the Titan’s emotions. Quill looks at her in confusion and Tony darts his eyes up to her for a second, before redoubling his efforts with the gauntlet. It isn’t looking like Mantis will be able to keep the upper hand for much longer, and the gauntlet still isn’t _budging_ —

“What does this _monster_ have to _mourn?”_ Drax bites out, from his position by Thanos’ leg, his voice sharp and filled with venom.

“Gamora.”

Tony’s ears prick up attentively as Nebula speaks, her eyes dark and knowing as she stares at Thanos from her position a few feet away, her words drawing Quill’s attention, the man turning to look at her in slow motion. “He took her to Vormir,” she continues, an empty, resigned tone to her voice. “He came back with the Soul Stone… but she didn’t.”

Tony’s stomach drops as he realises suddenly that the situation has gone from volatile to critical. He already knows, just from his experience with the team, that Quill and the Guardians aren’t the best at things like ‘impulse control’, and the fact that this Gamora person— someone so important that they were willing to go attack Thanos _by themselves_ — is now probably dead…

He yanks on the gauntlet and retracts his helmet, his heart pounding in his chest as he looks over at Quill. “Okay, Quill, you gotta cool it right now, you understand?” he says in a rush, his eyes flicking over the man’s tense stance and darkening expression. “I know what you’re thinking, I do, I swear, but please, this is not the way.”

He isn’t lying when he says he knows what Quill is thinking. He knows, because he went through something similar with Bucky and the death of his parents. He knows the pain, and the rational and irrational anger, he does. But he had had time, and support, to get through it. Quill doesn’t have any of that, and Thanos is right in front of him. 

Panic rises in his chest as he watches Quill turn back to Thanos, the man’s face dark and menacing in his anger. “No Quill, don’t,” he begs, the gauntlet giving slightly as he jerks on it desperately. “Don’t engage, Quill. _We’ve almost got this off!”_

Quill doesn’t seem to hear, and beside him, Tony can feel Peter tugging just as desperately at the gauntlet. His gaze flicks from Quill to Peter, and down to the gauntlet. He doesn’t want to let go of it for fear that Thanos will be able to jerk his arm out of Peter’s grip, but if they can just get it off—

“Tell me she’s lying,” Quill growls, his eyes narrowed as he leans into Thanos’ face, the man’s fury making him as high-strung and dangerous as a loaded gun. “ _Tell me you didn’t do it!”_

Thanos lets out a low groan, his head moving sluggishly as he adds fuel to the fire. “I…had…to,” he gets out slowly, his voice sounding rough and drugged as he responds to the questioning.

Quill draws back, his anger folding into something quiet and dangerous, his eyes glistening as he stares into Thanos, his whole being teetering on the edge of self-control. “No, you didn’t,” he says softly. “No—” his voice raises, his face twisting in anger. “ _No, you didn’t_!”

Tony sees the moment he breaks, his anger boiling over as he raises his arm, his pistol in hand as he strikes Thanos twice in the face, still screaming. Above Thanos, Mantis gasps at the pain, her hands letting go of the Titan’s head for a moment at the shock of the assault.

“ _Quill!”_ he screams, abandoning his efforts with the gauntlet and lunging at the man, his helmet closing over his face as Mantis regains her hold and Peter continues to tug at the gauntlet. “Stop!” he shouts, Quill continuing to struggle against him as he snarls at the Titan. “Quill, stop! _Stop!_ ” 

“It’s coming!” he hears Peter call, the words giving him hope for half-a-second. “It’s coming! It’s coming, I got it, I got it—”

His words cut off as Thanos snaps out of Mantis’ control and the world descends into pandemonium.

Quill regains his senses as Thanos breaks free, his eyes widening in shock and horror as the Titan throws off Mantis and pulls his gauntlet back from Peter, throwing off all the other members of the team in quick succession as the plan crumbles apart around them.

Tony grits his teeth and lets go of Quill, his eyes focusing down on Thanos as he powers up his nanite arm canon, igniting his thrusters as he pushes off and fires several blue blasts at the enraged Titan, his mind shifting frantically through the shattered remains of their plan.

There has _got_ to be a way they can save this. They _have_ to. Strange had said this is their _only_ chance—

Thanos turns at his attack, his face twisted in a mask of rage as he bats him away. Tony grunts as he is forced back, and he shifts his nanites into an energy blade, his eyes darting over his helm-display as he tries to plan. He thinks the other Guardians are down for the count. Thanos had kicked them away and they have yet to get up again, and Peter— he doesn’t know where Peter is—

His spiralling train of thought gets cut off as Thanos blocks the swipe of his blade and _headbutts_ him down into the ground. He lands with a grunt, his head rattling unpleasantly at the blow as he tumbles over himself, and the headache from early comes back full force as he skids to a stop, gasping for breath.

He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his mind, his energy blade folding up as, a few feet away, Thanos looks up towards the sky, his brows furling in concentration. For his part, Tony had been expecting the Titan to continue to pound him into the ground, but instead, he watches in horror as the purple and blue stones on Thanos’ gauntlet flare to life, and the Titan tugs downward, his muscles bulging as he pulls on something.

 _What…?_ he thinks, momentarily bewildered at the strange move.

Then he looks up.

Above them, he can just make out the faint daytime presents of a moon in the planet’s atmosphere, and his breath stutters to a halt as he watches it get ingulfed by a cloud of dust, his helm-display going crazy as he realises that the Titan intends to _bring the thing down on top of them._

Thanos grunts with effort, and the moon shifts closer, hundreds of little asteroids breaking off from the surface and turning into deadly projectile weapons as the Titan heaves and tugs them down into the atmosphere. Tony’s mouth goes slack with shock as the sky darkens and they fall, the pieces of rock trailing smoke and debris as they begin to crash-land onto the planet. The ground heaves and vibrates under him, dust and smoke polluting the already tainted air as the meteors begin to impact.

Distantly, through the comms, he hears Peter let out a cry, and his heart constricts at the danger the teen must be in. He doesn’t have much time to think about it though, because the world becomes a deadly fiery obstacle course as moon fragments smash into the ground and decimate the remaining ruins.

The ground shakes as an asteroid crashes nearby, and he scrambles backwards, his eyes wide and his breath tight in his lungs as he activates his thrusters, the jets shooting him up and backwards in a shaky retreat. He doesn’t really have a plan in mind at this point— besides avoid getting crushed to death in a fiery grave— and it is impossible to plot a flightpath, his course shaky and wild as he dodges bits of rock and fire.

A moon. He is dodging a falling _moon_.

What kind of person can pull down an entire _moon?_ How are they supposed to be able to fight that? How are they even going to _survive_ , let alone _win_ this thing now? They had had Strange’s plan, but the plan is long gone at this point, and all he can hope for is that Peter is still alive somewhere and that he doesn’t—

His helmet flashes and alarms blare in his ears as a rumble fills the sky and a shadow passes over him. His breath catches and he looks up, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. His eyes widen and his mind freezes, the sight of a descending asteroid overruling every other thought in his brain.

It is moving too fast to do anything, and he doesn’t even have time to open his mouth in horror before his helm fills with warnings and the giant burning rock smashes into him with the force of a speeding train.

He hits the ground face first, a raw strangled noise erupting from his throat as his face smashes into the front of his helmet. His head spins and pain flares across his nose, a sudden sharp white light flashing in front of his eyes— and then blissfully, mercifully, everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first off, I had a Mantis and Tony scene! I know a lot of people speculated how that would go if it even happened. Thankfully this Tony is a little more emotionally stable than mcu Tony.
> 
> And… I know a lot of people probably were hoping that Quill wouldn’t interrupt the gauntlet scene with Thanos, but I don’t feel like the ripples of changes in this universe would have a) changed him, and b) enabled Tony to stop him faster. He did his best, but he didn’t want to leave Peter with the gauntlet, and he was hoping to get it off before there were any problems.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the fight with Thanos continues...

He wakes up to a pounding headache, a multitude of new cuts and bruises, and a crushing, choking weight on his back.

And one frantic teen in his ear.

“ _Mr. Stark?”_ Peter calls into his comms, the kid’s voice high and thin with worry. _“Please, Mr. Stark, please respond.”_

Tony groans, and tries to turn his head, only to instantly regret the decision, lights flashing painfully behind his eyes and his headache kicking up a notch as he bursts into a fit of coughing, the weight on his back making it hard to breathe.

 _“Mr. Stark!”_ Peter shouts, unintentionally exaggerating the pain in his head. _“I_ knew _you weren’t— Hang on! Karen’s scanning for you. I’m coming.”_

Tony can only grunt in response, a dry taste of dirt in his mouth and a steady pain in his chest, his body almost completely immobile, thanks to – what he assumes must be – a sizable piece of rock pressing down on his back. In his ear, Peter continues to chat, prattling on about the time that _he_ had nearly been crushed— and Tony is certain that if he were in a better frame of mind, he would have more to say about that incident— all the while growing closer as he works through the debris left behind by the falling moon.

“ _I gotcha,_ ” Peter says. “ _I can see you, I just gotta lift this off of you.”_

Tony blinks, the light around him shifting, his eyes focusing distantly on the orange dust in the air as he listens to the sounds of scraping rocks and Peter’s grunting. The pressure on his back shifts suddenly, and he can’t help a cry of pain and surprise as it moves.

 _“Almost there, almost there,”_ he hears Peter mutter hurriedly, and with one last heave, he finds the weight gone from his back. A new fit of coughing overwhelms him as he sucks in a deep breath and gives his head a shake. 

Red feet appear in his vision, and Peter crouches down next to him, the kid’s hands running over his suit as he checks him over, his voice tumbling out of him in a mile-a-minute rush. “It was crazy! With the moon coming down, I mean. I managed to save some of the other Guardians, but I couldn’t find you, and then Doctor Strange has been doing the _craziest_ stuff with magic—”

That catches his attention, and Tony plants his hands against the ground, ignoring the spikes of pain through his body as he pushes himself to his knees, swaying and panting slightly as his helm-display flickers on and begins to run through system checks, his nanites swarming to fix the extensive damage to his suit.

“Where… Thanos?” he gets out, sucking in a breath as he looks over at Peter.

The kid stops talking immediately and turns to point back through the smoking rubble. “He’s fighting Doctor Strange,” he says, his voice taking on a more solemn note. “I— They’re both using magic stuff.”

Tony nods distractedly his mind flitting through scenarios and scenes as he becomes aware of the distant sound of fighting in the background. “Okay,” he says roughly, his eyes flitting over his helm readout as he lifts a hand to pat Peter on the back. “You did good kid,” he says, as the words **Nanite Reserve Status: Low** flashes in front of his eyes.

His lips press together, and he looks over at the kid. “Okay, now is the time for you to take a step back.” The eyes of Peter’s suit move as the kid pulls back in protest, and Tony shakes his head determinately. “You’re an Avenger now,” he says, his hand still on Peter’s shoulder. “So you have to listen to me. I need to be able to trust that you will be safe, if I am going to be able to fight Thanos.”

“Mr. Stark…” Peter starts off quietly, and Tony sucks in a breath.

“Did you manage to find all the other Guardians?” he asks, planning to give the kid some sort of mission, so that he will be able to focus on Thanos, instead of worrying after him the whole time. Peter shakes his head, and Tony nods. “That’s what I need you to do right now,” he says, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “Find them, and bring them in, so we can have a chance against Thanos.”

What his own odds are against the Titan, he doesn’t want to know. That isn’t important right now.

Beside him, Peter nods determinately, and Tony watches him with an air of relief as the kid pushes himself upwards and prepares to shoot off in search of the other Guardians. For his part, Tony has a harder time standing up, but his suit had protected him from most of the damage from the moon attack, and while he might be bruised and shaken up, nothing is broken, which means he should be fine to go off to help Strange with his battle with Thanos.

Yeah.

He almost thinks he makes it too late.

It isn’t hard to find Thanos and Strange’s battle, his suit guides him just as easily as the noise from their fight does, and he catches sight of the battlefield as he flies around a large piece of wreckage.

Thanos has Strange by the neck.

His stomach drops at the sight, and his eyes widen in horror as he urges his suit to go faster. His heart pounds in his chest as he watches Thanos reach down to grab the necklace holding the Time Stone hanging on Strange’s neck.

 _It’s over,_ he thinks despairingly, as Thanos pulls it away. _We lost, he’ll get the Time Stone—_

In slow motion, he watches Thanos lift the necklace, and crush it to pieces. “A fake,” he hears him rumble, as he shakes out his hand. Tony’s eyes widen in surprise and he lets out a sharp breath of relief at the fact that Strange had managed to buy them a little more time.

Thanos is less than impressed though, his face twisting as he tosses Strange away, the man tumbling through the rubble like a flopping ragdoll. Tony winces as his head hits the ground, and Strange remains motionless as Thanos steps forward, raising his metal fist.

He doesn’t even want to _think_ about what kinds of things the Titan will try to do in order to extract the Time Stone from Strange. Whatever it is, it won’t be pretty.

 _Absolutely not_ , he thinks as he blasts forward, wind whipping past his helmet as he raises his own hand, mentally shifting the nanites around to collect on his palm.

 **Warning: Nanite Reserve Status: Low** his suit reminds him. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters under his breath. There isn’t much he can do about that. A resupply of nanites isn’t really available right now, so he will just have to make do.

And he can’t really afford to be stingy right now.

The nanites finish collecting and form into a replica of his hand gauntlet, and just as Thanos prepares to clench his fist— and probably turn Strange into a cloud of bees or something— he fires, sending his nanite gauntlet straight for the Titan, the replica latching on and sticking like glue, preventing him from closing his hand.

He might relish the brief flash of confusion on Thanos’ face a little _too_ much.

He lands with a thud in front of him, his shoulders drawing back as he stands up, his jaw clenched. “You throw another moon at me, and I’m gonna lose it,” he tells him, done up to _here_ with fighting a mythical, all-powerful Titan and his gauntlet of horrors.

Thanos stares at him, and seems to give him a contemplative look— probably surprised at the fact that he is even still alive, let alone still fighting him— before he opens his mouth and says something that he never could have predicted.

“Stark,” he says.

Tony blinks.

“You know me?” he says, thrown off guard. How… how is that possible? How can Thanos possibly know about him? Quill knowing about the Avengers had been unlikely and strange enough, but Thanos knowing his _name_?

“I do,” Thanos continues. “You’re not the only one cursed with knowledge.”

Ah.

 _So we’re being dramatic,_ he thinks, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Thanos would feel the need to make cryptic comments and dark dramatic statements as he fights to destroy half the universe. He shouldn’t have expected anything else.

Whatever the reason for Thanos knowing him, it doesn’t really matter, and Tony narrows his eyes. “My only curse is _you_ ,” he bites out as he mentally shifts through his suit capabilities, and sets his nanites to construct a series of small rockets.

He shoves the low nanite warning away again as the rockets pop up from the back of his suit and deploy, hissing through the air before exploding exactly on target, shrouding Thanos in a cloud of smoke. Tony doesn’t wait for the smoke to clear before he is blasting forward, the feet of his suit melding into hammers as he slams feet first into the Titan, knocking him back a step, before landing solidly a few feet away.

The nanites from his feet migrate up to his arms, and he forms new hammers there, punching Thanos back as the Titan regains his feet. The move works for a second, and Tony finds his jaw clenched in concentration as he fights. He doesn’t really know the odds of him winning this battle, but he doesn’t need Strange here to know that they are probably very low. That doesn’t matter though, because all he needs to do is get lucky, and if he can keep migrating his supply of nanites, then he might have enough to win—

Thanos rebounds from his strike with a vengeance, and the Titan reaches for him, his giant hand closing over his head and tearing his helmet away as easily as ice shattering. Tony’s eyes widen as he looks up at him and his helmet reforms, his nanite supply straining as he raises his arms against Thanos’ next punch.

The blow pushes him off his feet, and he lands heavily, his face skidding along the ground and aggravating his headache and previous collection of bruises as he slides.

By now his nanites are having difficulty repairing the damage to his suit, and he looks up to see Thanos waste more of the nano-bots, the Titan reaching down to rip away the metal gauntlet that had been holding his hand hostage. His face twists in fury before he steps forward to thrust the gauntlet towards him, ominous purple energy crackling around him as he charges up the Power Stone.

 **Warning: Nanite supply reserves—** he shoves the notification away, forcing his suit to comply as he materialises a shield and plants it in front of him, the metal forming just barely in time to block a stream of dark purple energy, the force of which pushes him backwards several feet.

Warnings blare in his helm as he braces himself, and he grits his teeth before shifting his stance and twisting out of the way, folding away his shield to form a clamp on his boot as he charges at Thanos and kicks his metal gauntlet into the ground.

He has seconds to spare at this point, before Thanos retaliates, and he doesn’t waste any of them, his mind running calculations and plans at breathtaking speeds as he forces his nanites to his hand to form a hammer as he twists around and clocks Thanos in the face.

It actually makes contact, and Tony will admit that even _he_ is a little surprise to see the small cut left behind, the abrasion sitting innocently above the Titan’s cheekbone in the wake of his attack.

Thanos seems surprised too, the Titan panting slightly as he reaches up with his free hand to brush at his cheek. “All that,” he says deeply, drawing in a breath as he stares at him. “For a drop of blood.”

 _Yes,_ he thinks sharply.

Because the drop of blood is more significant than Thanos realises. It might not be much, but it means Thanos _can be hurt_. It is a moment of hope. It is _something_.

He can remember, years ago, after he had been attacked by Ivan Vanko, he had visited the man after he had first caught him, and Vanko had been seemingly unconcerned as he sat in a prison cell. _If you make a god bleed,_ he had said, perfectly satisfied with his efforts. _People will cease to believe in him._

Thanos can bleed. He isn’t a god. He can be hurt, which means he can be _stopped._

Of course, one drop of blood isn’t enough right now, no matter what the significance of it is, and Tony doesn’t even have a second to breathe before Thanos smirks and jerks upwards, pulling his gauntlet out from under his clamp and sending him tumbling away in the process, the world spinning as he flips over and lands heavily on his back a few feet away.

Pain pulses in his head, and he opens his eyes to see Thanos barrelling down on him his fist colliding with his face before he can block him, sending him crashing back down to the ground. Blood is in his mouth again and he lets out a gasp as he tries to protect himself, his arms raising uselessly as Thanos pummels him into the ground again and again.

 _I’m going to die,_ he realises, as his head jerks with the force of the blows, the thought cold and far away in his brain. _I’m going to get beaten to death._

That isn’t good enough for Thanos though, because the Titan picks him up, purple energy crackling around his fist as he uses the gauntlet to launch him back again. Heat licks uncomfortably at his belly— although thankfully his suit protects him from most of it, and the crashlanding isn’t pleasant, but it does give him half-a-second to breathe. He coughs, and his head swims as he tries to push himself up again, the alarms and warnings of his helm background noise at this point, and barely noticeable.

The nanite loss _is_ noticeable, and warnings blare as he pushes nanites up to his hands, a hole appearing in his helmet and exposing his eye as he prepares to activate and fire his repulsors at Thanos. A white beam of light bursts out from his right hand as he aims straight at the Titan, and heat hisses in the air as Thanos sneers, his gauntlet hand glowing purple as he raises it to block the stream.

Tony grits his teeth and stands, preparing to fire his other repulsor, the armor around his left leg crawling away as he relocates his nanite supply, his foot now cold and bare as it sits exposed to the elements.

The second repulsor blast is just as useless as the first one, and Tony sucks in a thin breath of fear and desperation as Thanos stalks closer, his eyes narrowed against the bright light of the repulsors. His helm-display is non-existent at this point, but Tony doesn't need it to know that he doesn’t have much left to give. This had been their _only_ chance to take out Thanos and it _isn’t working_.

He sucks in a frantic breath, and Thanos reaches him, drawing his arm back to smash against his hands as he tries to block his face. The blow overpowers him, ripping away his repulsors and helmet, leaving his face and hands completely exposed, his nanites unable to make up the loss. The air is cold on his face, and his hands ache at the assault— and he knows even without being told that his suit is on its last legs— _but he can’t give up yet._

Everyone is counting on this win. Everyone here on Titan, and everyone back on Earth. They _have_ to defeat Thanos here, Strange had said they have _one chance_ —

His breath hisses thin between his teeth as he blocks another punch from Thanos, mentally shoving his growing pain to the back of his mind as his eyes narrow, his jaw clenched tight in concentration. Thanos is big, but he has fought big opponents before, he has trained with the Hulk, he has a chance. He _can do_ this.

Please.

He throws his own punch, and Thanos catches it easily. He bites back a whimper as the bones in his hand scream and he makes a split-second decision, pulling the armour from his immobilised arm, and forcing his nanites to form together one last time on his other hand. They can’t form a gun anymore, that is too complicated for his low reserves, but they _can_ solidify into the sharp edges of a deadly blade.

He grunts and slashes towards Thanos in a desperate thrust, throwing every bit of his waning power behind the move.

It doesn’t work.

His eyes widen as the Titan shifts to the side, catching his arm against his body, and avoiding the knife entirely. His shoulder twists, and he lets out a sharp breath of fear at the compromising position, his heart beginning to pound harder in his chest as, for half-a-second, he worries that Thanos might simply wrench his arm sideways and pop his joint out of its socket… but the reality is much, much worse.

In the blink of an eye, Thanos’ hand twists over his and snaps off his blade, the Titan shifting forward before he can even _think_ , and jamming the thing right through his stomach.

It takes a second to register.

At first it feels like a really solid gut punch, and he chokes, adrenalin pulsing loud in his ears as his mind spins, his brain trying to process something his body hasn’t quite caught up on.

Stabbed. He had been… stabbed.

He can feel it. In him. And he sucks in a breath, a strangled noise bursting out of his throat as pain starts trying to make itself a problem. Above him, Thanos doesn’t let up on the pressure, the Titan using the blade to push him backwards, his mind sluggish and slow as his feet stumble over themselves.

The blade shifts inside him as the Titan forces him down onto some rubble, and Tony finds his mind rapidly shifting away from the horror of what had just happened to him, shock dulling his senses as he tries to breathe, the growing pain in his side making it difficult.

He can hardly focus on the Titan as Thanos leans in, his giant hand coming up to stroke his head in mock affection as he looks down at him. “You have my respect, Stark,” he says, as Tony stares up at him, hardly able to breathe, let alone do something against his assailant.

 _Steve is an absolute_ liar _when he says he’s fine after getting injured,_ he thinks numbly, his mind pulling the thought up from the shady edges of his shock. Steve, with his serum, might be able to continue fighting after getting hit this hard, but he finds he can barely move, his body mostly paralysed with pain and shock as Thanos continues monologuing.

“When I’m done,” he says, staring at him. “Half of humanity will still be alive.” Tony can’t think of any words to say back to that, but mostly he is distracted by the newfound blood in his mouth, the taste echoing that from earlier.

He thinks this time the source is a little more serious.

His eyes flick up as Thanos draws back from him, his eyes solemn. Tony blinks heavily, his mind sluggish as he notes absentmindedly that the Titan leaves the blade inside him, instead of pulling it out.

That— that is good. Yeah, Steve had had them all do a first-aid class once and— and it had covered this sort of thing. Leaving the blade inside is better. Pulling it out is bad, he definitely remembers that. He had been partnered with Bucky while they had been practicing the scenarios, and they had definitely been supposed to leave the object _alone_ —

His mind snaps back to focus on Thanos, his thoughts still scattered and sluggish as he watches the Titan raise his gauntlet hand. “I hope they remember you,” he says, and Tony finds his mind drifting again.

A small part of him realises that he is about to die now— and an even smaller part manages to hope the Peter is somewhere else right now, not watching this— but he finds himself distracted by Thanos’ last words.

_I hope they remember you._

Yes. Yes… he _will_ have people to remember him. Won’t he? Yes. He sucks in a pained pant. Yes, he will. Steve and Bucky, and the Avengers, and Rhodey and Happy and— and Pepper. Oh. His heart squeezes. Pepper. He was supposed to go back to her. He was supposed to go back to Earth. He had promised. He had promised he wasn’t going to do any self-sacrificing, last-minute gestures. He was going to go back to Earth.

But here he is. About to die on an alien planet and… and it won’t even _do_ anything. Thanos will still go after Strange once he is finished with him, and maybe even Peter— depending on how the fight turns out— and once that is done, the Titan will turn to Earth, and kill everyone there and— and if they had _only been able to stop him here—_

In front of him, Thanos closes his fist, and Tony’s eyes drift over it, noting the brightening colours as he prepares his stones. He hopes that it isn’t a _painful_ death at least, and he hopes that Peter isn’t here to see it. The kid shouldn’t have to see this.

“Stop!”

It takes him a second to figure out what the word even means, and it takes him even longer to figure out where it had come from.

In front of him, Thanos stops charging his gauntlet, and his eyes shift over to look past him, to where Doctor Strange had fallen. The man is awake again, although looking worse for wear, and he pushes himself into a sitting position, his eyes on the Titan.

“Spare his life…” he pants, keeping his gaze on Thanos, his voice rough and tired in his throat. “And… I will give you the stone.”

 _What?_ Tony’s brain manages to think, his eyes flicking over to Strange as more blood drips out of his mouth. His mind cannot begin to comprehend the wizard’s words. Why would he offer the stone in exchange for his life— when before he had explicitly stated that he _wouldn’t_ do something like that— and when Tony is already dying _anyways_ …

The whole plan had been to keep Thanos away from the Time Stone. Strange should portal himself away from this planet at least, try to keep it away from the Titan for a moment longer. Leave while Thanos is distracted with killing him. At least then his death would _mean_ something, and then maybe back on Earth, Steve will have enough time to destroy the Mind Stone. That is their _only_ chance now.

But Strange is trying to give the stone _away._ In exchange for _his life._

In front of him, Thanos narrows his eyes at Strange, shifting his gauntlet so that it now points threateningly at the wizard. “No tricks,” he says decisively, and Strange shakes his head.

“Don’t—!” Tony gets out, before pain chokes him off, his head swimming slightly as he looks over at Strange.

Strange doesn’t listen to him, the doctor completely ignoring him as he raises his hand, his eyes going distant as he holds his concentration on the space between his thumb and forefinger. His brow furls slightly and the Time Stone appears suddenly between the two fingers.

Strange stares solemnly at the stone for a second, something deep and unreadable in his eyes as he prepares to give over the one thing he had sworn to protect. He had been so adamant about that oath before, so _why_ —?

Tony grunts, unable to move, unable to even _speak_ really, as he watches Strange sacrifice everything… for him. The dagger shifts in him as he looks over at Strange, and Tony grits his teeth, his hand coming up to rest on the hilt of the blade, the pain distracting him momentarily from Thanos and Strange. The blade is a problem. He knows he shouldn’t take it out, not yet at least, but maybe…

His suit is in pieces, and barely functional, but the nanites of the dagger are still connected to the rest, and he runs his hand lightly over the end of the blade, willing the nano-bots to shift their form once more.

He bites back a muffled noise of pain as the sharp edges of the blade disappear inside of him, and the nanites begin simply trying to seal his wound. He knows he will have to remove them eventually, but that… that is a problem for future-Tony, one who survives long enough to receive medical help.

Even with Strange’s intervention, he isn’t sure if that will happen.

With a blade no longer actively tearing up his insides, he is able to focus and glance up again as, in front of him, Strange releases the Time Stone, the green gem floating painfully slow over to where Thanos is waiting. Tony watches mutely as he catches it between his fingers, the Titan flicking his eyes over it thoughtfully as he raises it and his gauntlet hand.

He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting from the stone to meet his, his brows furled as though trying to understand why Strange would be willing to hand over something so valuable, in exchange for simply sparing him.

Tony can’t help but agree.

He is helpless to do anything about it though, besides watch in pained silence as Thanos looks back to the stone and finally turns over his gauntlet, a green light washing over the metal as the Titan drops the stone into place.

Immediately his muscles bulge, and he lets out a roar as he flexes, the power of the new infinity stone running through him. Tony watches despairingly, his mind clouded by pain, disappointment, and growing hopelessness.

This had been their _one_ chance. And he had ultimately blown it. Quill might have ruined their first plan, but _he_ is the one Strange is bargaining the stone for.

In front of him, Thanos looks down in pride at his newly acquired stone, only to glance up a moment later as unexpected firepower strikes the metal, the blast colliding with a shower of sparks as an enraged battle cry fills the air.

To be honest, Tony first thinks that it belongs to Drax, the screams reminding him entirely of how the alien had charged in to fight them not that long ago, when he had thought them working for Thanos.

The sound isn’t from him though, and Tony turns his head sluggishly to see Quill emerging from the smoke, the man’s helmet in place and his blasters at the ready as he barrels towards Thanos in one last desperate attempt.

 _Don’t!_ he wants to scream, because he is certain now that Thanos will simply kill Quill and be done with it. Nothing they can do now will be able to stop the Titan, and he doesn’t need Quill dying right now to prove it.

Thanos doesn’t engage Quill though. He doesn’t even seem bothered by the man. Instead, he simply leaves, a blue portal opening up behind him as Quill’s gunshots explode harmlessly around him. The next instant, he is gone, and Quill is left to tumble uselessly on the ground where he had just been.

 _Of course… he left,_ Tony realises sluggishly, panting slightly as his body starts to run out of adrenaline, and his pain levels jump up a few notches. Of course Thanos left. He doesn’t need to be here anymore. Why waste time fighting them, when he now has the Time Stone, and can go after Steve and the Mind Stone?

His eyes close in resignation at the thought, before he sucks in a breath and opens them again, mentally pulling at the last reserves his suit has left as he lifts his arm and sprays a local anesthetic on his wound. He can’t do much else, because his suit is so damaged, but so far, he is alive, and he plans to stay that way.

He can’t die, not right after Strange saved his life. That would make it all for _nothing_.

Still, he finds his eyes turning to Strange, incomprehension spinning in his brain as he looks at the exhausted wizard. “Why would you do that?” he gets out roughly, fighting against the rising tide of emotions in his throat.

They had lost. They had lost _everything._ And not just them. Everyone, the whole _universe_ had lost, all because Strange had decided to spare his life.

Strange doesn’t have an answer for him. At least, not a satisfactory one. He doesn’t look regretful though as he lifts his eyes to stare into his. “We’re in the endgame now,” he says.

oOo

Peter is frantic when he finds him, the other members of the Guardians, plus Nebula, gathering together in a ragged group as they try to pick up the pieces from their disastrous fight.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says over and over again as he comes over, fear clear in his eyes as he looks over his battered state. “It took so long to find everyone and Drax got buried pretty deep and—”

“It’s okay kid,” he says immediately. No matter what mission he had sent Peter off on, he absolutely _refuses_ to let the kid try to blame himself for his own injuries, or for Thanos’ victory. To that end, he is glad he doesn’t have the blade sticking out of him anymore. Peter would have definitely lost it if he had seen that.

“It’s okay,” he says again— because that is the kind of lie adults are supposed to tell children. To be honest, things really aren't okay. Thanos is going after the Mind Stone, he had been stabbed, and they are all on an alien planet.

He can’t really deal with all of that though. It is too much. Instead, he will just deal with his most immediate, and most fixable concern.

“Hey Quill,” he calls, looking over to where the man is helping support Mantis, the two of them dusty and dirty and looking rather shellshocked. “How’d you get here? You have a ship?”

Quill gives him a jerky nod, and Tony lets out a breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he mentally releases most of his nanites, the broken bits of his suit melting away as the nano-bots crawl back into the casing on his chest.

“Great,” he says thinly, sucking in a slow breath as he works through a new wave of pain. “Do you happen to have a first-aid kit on that thing?”

Quill answers in stuttered sentences, and Tony knows that the man is still having difficulty processing what had just happened. Add to the fact that he probably blames himself for most of it, and is also still trying to deal with the death of Gamora… Tony can forgive him for being a little scatterbrained at the moment.

His answer boils down to a ‘yes’ though, and Tony grits his teeth as Peter reaches down to help him to his feet. His head swims as he stands, and he sucks in a sharp breath as he looks over the wreckage and the other Guardians around him.

They are a mess.

None of them have managed to get out of this unscathed, and to be honest, they don’t even know if Quill’s ship has _survived_ all of this, but given that it is their best chance at getting out of here, Tony is hoping they can have _that_ at least.

Not that he really knows what they will do once they reach the ship. Those steps are too far ahead for him to try to think about. He can’t deal with the looming difficulties still left for him. He doesn’t want to think about Thanos, or the Avengers on Earth, or _anything._ All he can think about right now is finding the ship and—

From her position at Quill’s shoulder, Mantis darts her head up, her eyes wide. “Something’s happening,” she says.

Both he and Quill look at her, and Tony doesn’t even have a chance to say something before the woman suddenly disintegrates, turning into ash right before their eyes and drifting away on the wind.

Tony stares, only vaguely aware of Quill’s own frozen expression, everyone in the group paralysed as they try to process what had just happened.

And then Drax goes next.

“Quill?” he says, something uncertain and lost in his voice as he turns to the man, his expression collapsing as he too, rapidly turns into dust. Quill’s expression is horror filled as he turns back to him, and Tony can only share a wide-eyed look with him, his heart beginning to pound faster in his chest, his pain getting pushed back as the reality of their situation starts sinking in.

Thanos must have— he must have—

 _No,_ his mind thinks in painful denial. In front of him, Quill’s expression shifts, and Tony finds his hand reaching out for him, his voice thin with growing panic as he speaks. “Steady, Quill.”

He can see the moment the man knows he is going. “Aw, man,” he whispers as his legs disappear out from under him, the shape of his body hanging in the air for a moment, before the wind scatters his ashes into the ruins.

Tony can barely think straight at this point, the pain in his body and the panic in his mind making it hard to breathe as he tries to process even a _fraction_ of the magnitude of what is happening. His vision spins as he breathes, and he finds himself glancing aimlessly about the horizon, his feet shuffling around until his gaze lands on Strange, the man still sitting tiredly amid the rubble.

“Tony,” he says calmly, his eyes pleading for him to listen, the actual use of his name in sharp contrast to his aloof manner from before. “There was no other way,” he says gravely, his eyes rapidly drifting further away. Tony stares at him, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he watches the man slowly come apart, his face shifting into tiny little pieces of greying ash, before he collapses away completely.

 _There was no other way,_ what can that mean? No other way— but Thanos had—

His spiralling thoughts are cut off by the most terrifying sound he has ever heard in his life, his breath stuttering sharply in his chest as a voice behind him speaks up.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter calls shakily, a note of fear rising in his voice. He swallows, a sort of numb fear crawling up his throat, his brain dropping straight into denial as he turns to see Peter stumbling towards him, his arms held out uncertainly as he glances up. “I don’t feel so good,” he gets out.

No. No, no, no. This is not how it is supposed to go. _Tony_ is the dying one. _He_ is the one who had been stabbed. _He_ is the one who is supposed to protect Peter and get him home safely no matter the cost. He can’t— not like this— not like this—

“You’re alright,” he says, fighting to keep his voice calm as horror grows in his chest. His words do nothing to prevent the horrible truth of what is happening though. In front of him, Peter continues to breathe raggedly, his eyes distant as he fights to keep his knees from giving out under him.

“I don’t—” he stumbles forward, and Tony finds himself reaching out to grab him, the kid clinging to him tightly as he pants and rambles in fear. “I don’t know what’s— I don’t know what’s happening—” he gets out. “I don’t—”

His legs start giving out from under him, and Tony hardly feels the twinge in his stomach as he grips the kid in a tight hug, as if by physically keeping him close, he can physically keep him together. In his arms, Peter sucks in a stuttered breath, tears beginning to fill his voice as he clutches at him.

“I don’t wanna go,” he sobs, causing Tony’s heart to clench painfully, his own words dried up and dead in his throat in the face of the overwhelming tragedy in front of him. “I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, please,” he begs, his hands digging into his shoulders as he pants. “Please, I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna—”

His legs give out entirely, and Tony collapses to his knees, Peter landing on his back in front of him, his hands still clutching at his bodysuit as he lays with a distant look in his eyes, his words broken off into silence.

After a moment, he blinks, a calm resignation in his gaze as he turns his head over to look at him, his expression completely heedless of Tony’s own growing panic. “I’m sorry,” he rasps quietly.

 _No!_ Tony’s brain shouts, his eyes widening as Peter finally succumbs, a shaky gasp leaving his lips as he falls to pieces, his body shifting into ash right under his hands. He falls forward as the kid disappears, his mind blank and empty as his hand lands in his ashes, the feel of it gritty and terrible on his skin.

He can’t— he can’t _deal_ with this— he can’t—

In a sort of absentminded way, he feels tears in his eyes, and he pulls into himself, his empty hands coming up to his mouth as he sits hunched, his mind crashing dangerously. He— He hadn't known what to expect when he had first learned that Thanos wanted to destroy half of all life in the universe. He had known it would be bad, but he hadn't known what it would _look_ like.

He had hoped to stop it before he ever found out.

He hadn't though, and now, he sits and hopes instead that, like the others, he will drift away, shift into ash like everyone else, and not have to live with the absolute failure around him.

He doesn’t.

Instead he stays alive, the woman– Nebula, standing stoic and silent along with him, the two of them the only survivors left on the planet in the wake of Thanos’ attack.

“He did it,” she whispers emptily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides under a rock* sorry, sorry, sorry.   
> I know a lot of people where hoping that the Snap wouldn’t happened, but I swear things will get better. We need to go through this so we can deal with Endgame. I didn’t want to just avoid that whole movie entirely.
> 
> On a different note, as I was writing this, I realised Marvel never established WHERE the dagger Tony got stabbed with went. If you re-watch the scene, he gets stabbed… and then he is spraying the wound, no knife in sight. It would be really DUMB to pull it out, so I decided he dissolved it, but has the nanites still inside, sealing the wound.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony has to deal with the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Wound care

He does not want to think about how long he would have sat there, amid the dust, his mind blank and empty with shock, if Nebula hadn't been there.

He isn’t exactly _feeling_ at this point. Even the pain in his side is only a distant, immaterial ache as his brain tries to come to terms with what had just happened. It feels caught on a constant loop. Peter’s terrified voice, the feel of Peter in his arms, the feel of him vanishing…

In the haze of his grief, he notices Nebula leaving for a while, and he finds he doesn't even care. He doesn’t care about anything right now. Thanos had won. Thanos had killed Peter, and half the universe with him.

The Titan had also gone to Earth to get the Mind Stone, meaning he must have fought Steve and the other Avengers. Not only does he have no way of knowing who hadn't turned to dust back home, but he doesn’t even know if they had survived the encounter with Thanos in the _first_ place.

All in all, moving seems pretty pointless right now.

Nebula doesn’t seem to think so.

To be honest, he isn't a hundred percent sure why she comes back, but she does, planting herself in front of him, her hands on her hips as she stares down at him. “The Guardian’s ship is still here,” she informs him flatly.

He flicks his eyes up to her, his thoughts slow and sluggish, not picking up what she is laying down.

She scowls at him. “It is our only way out of here,” she bites out quickly, her eyes darting away. “Sit here if you want, but _I_ am not dying here. Not on _his_ planet.”

Tony blinks, a sudden revulsion going through him at the thought, and his mind kicks into gear as Nebula turns to step away. “Wait—” he starts, before choking off in a pained grunt as he tries to stand and finds himself _very quickly_ reminded that he is very much stabbed.

He doubles over, sucking in a breath and gritting his teeth, his vision spinning as he works through the pain, the anesthetics from earlier starting to wear off a little. He manages to lift his head after a moment, wiping his eyes as he looks back at Nebula, the woman turning back to stare at him, her gaze hard as her eyes flick over him analytically.

“You’re injured!” she accuses, and Tony can’t help letting out a short, bitter laugh, no matter how much pain it gives him.

“Yes well—” he takes in a tight breath and forces himself to stand upright again, wincing slightly as his hand comes up to his side. “Our Jolly Purple Giant decided to stab me so…”

Nebula does not look impressed as she watches him, and Tony forces himself to take a step in her direction, very pointedly _not_ thinking about the traces of ashes around him. “It’ll be fine,” he says, waving his other hand. “Probably.” And even if it isn’t, he finds he doesn’t really care much about that right now.

“You said something about Quill’s ship?” he continues, mentally pushing his pain into the back of his mind. “Do you think it’ll still work?”

Given the fact that Thanos had rained a _literal moon_ on top of them, the fact that Quill’s ship is even _findable_ is a miracle in and of itself, but hoping for it to be functional might be a step too far.

In front of him, Nebula grimaces and looks back towards the dusty, desolate landscape around them, smoke and dust hanging thick and orange amid the jagged ruins, the place completely silent besides the two of them. “It better,” she whispers, something dark underlying her words. “I am not dying here.”

Nebula is impatient to get back to the ship, and Tony gets the impression she is more _tolerating_ the idea of his presence, rather than wishing for it. Regardless of her personal feelings on the matter, once he informs her that he is an engineer, he rises in usefulness enough that he can at least be _fairly_ certain that she won’t try to leave the planet without him.

“I just have to do something first,” he tells her, turning back to the rubble where he had been sitting— _where Peter had died_. Nebula doesn’t look excited by his words, but she does wait, and he takes a shaky step back toward where Peter had been, his hand coming up to tap lightly against the nano-unit in his chest.

He doesn’t have a lot of nanites left anymore, but this is more important than anything else he will be needing them for.

With a slight grunt of pain he manages to kneel back down where he had been sitting. He pauses for a breath and pulls his hand away from his nano-unit, a small glove of nanites coming together as he flicks his eyes over everything that is left of Peter.

It isn't much, the wind had blown away most of his ashes, and the dirt and dust of the planet makes it difficult to know what is really Peter and what is not, but still… he needs _something_. He sucks in a tight breath and his tongue presses into the roof of his mouth before he slowly extends his hand to the lingering ashes in front of him.

He grasps a handful, and with a thought, the nanites peel off his hand and transform into a ball, forming a protective casing around the black ash that is all that he has left of Peter. A wave of emotion at that thought threatens to overwhelm him, and he pushes it away quickly, keeping his thoughts mostly blank as he clutches the newly formed ball in his fist and laboriously pushes himself to his feet again.

His side aches, and the ball is cold in his hand, his fingers squeezing it tighter as he wills himself not to think about it too much. He isn’t ready to deal with it, and he doesn’t have _time_. He has a job to do right now. He has to find Quill’s ship. He has to repair it. He has to get back to Earth.

After that he can deal with Peter, and— and whoever else is dead.

oOo

If anything, the pain of actually _getting_ to Quill’s ship at least distracts him from thinking too hard about what Thanos had done, and how the Titan had managed to finally get the Time Stone.

Yeah, getting stabbed certainly helps keep his thoughts preoccupied.

Nebula watches him out of the corner of her eye for a while as he struggles up, over, and around various bits of wreckage and rubble on their way back to Quill’s ship. After a while he uses some more of his nanites to create a pocket for him to keep his… his urn in, so that he has both hands at his disposal, but even then, it doesn’t take too long before he is pale and shaky, his breath laboured and his brow lined with sweat as he climbs.

He stumbles against a rusty rod, and he finds Nebula catching his arm, her hand cold and hard on his, and her eyes pointedly fixed on the horizon when he looks at her. “If you die, I can repair the ship on my own,” she threatens, refusing to look at him as they make their way around a piece of Squidward’s ship. “I have enough practice repairing myself, I can figure it out.”

Tony only swallows and nods, too tired to try to point out the fact that her actions contradict her words. “I’m sure… you’re… a wiz… at that,” he gets out between breaths as he forces himself to step over a chunk of moon rock.

At his words, he can feel Nebula’s gaze on him for a moment, her brow furled as though trying to figure out if there are any hidden meanings to his words. He isn’t sure what conclusion she comes to, but after a second, she simply scoffs and turns her face away.

She doesn’t take her hand away though.

They make it to the ship, and it… well, it is in one piece at least. It is covered in dust and dents, and most concerningly, at some point in the chaos of Thanos’ attack it had been knocked off of its landing struts, the ship now slanted and forlorn as it lays crookedly on the ground.

“Think it’ll work?” he rasps at Nebula, his eyes flicking over the sorry sight. He will admit that he doesn’t know much about spaceships, but if the thing is anything like a quinjet, then it is looking rather worse for wear.

Beside him, Nebula huffs out a staticky breath and releases his arm, kicking away a rock as she makes her way over to the lopsided hatch of the ship. “Knowing Quill,” she mutters, running her hand along the side of the door, searching for a control pad, “it was probably barely functional when he landed it here.”

With that ringing endorsement, the hatch slides open, revealing the dark, empty interior of the ship.

The inside of the ship is just as shaken up as the outside, and Tony has to bite his tongue as he walks across the slanted floor, the uneven footing straining his muscles and tugging painfully on his wound.

“Their medical supplies are in here,” Nebula tells him, her voice short and clinical as she guides him deeper into the ship, stopping in a room with a small narrow bed and a wall of shelves holding vaguely medical-like supplies.

“Mantis keeps it well stocked,” the woman continues, her eyes flicking over him and the shelves as he painfully heaves himself up onto the bed. “The Guardians are reckless enough. They could keep a whole hospital in business.”

“Hmn,” he grunts, his vision going blurry and his hand coming up to his side as he finally manages to settle. “You seem… to know… your way around,” he pants out, his eyes flicking up to Nebula. Her face shifts away and she stalks abruptly over to the shelves, her eyes darting over the supplies.

“I was… on this ship, for a while,” is all she says, before glancing sharply back at him. “You said you were stabbed? Where? The sooner you are functional, the sooner we get off this forsaken planet.”

Tony lets out a breath of agreement and slowly reaches down to peel up the shirt of his body suit. He lets out a muffled grunt as he does so, the dried blood from his wound sticking to the fabric and pulling painfully as he moves. A thin hiss of breath bursts from his teeth at the pain, and he bites his lips to keep from crying out, his eyes flicking over his exposed wound for the first time.

His nanites are doing their best to stem the bleeding, but he is still left with a red gash that is several inches long in his abdomen, the injury angry and inflamed, dried blood covering most of the rest of his stomach. Nebula scowls at the sight, and she turns back to the medical shelves, her hands skimming over the boxes as she pulls out bandages and a few too many unknown packets and tubes to be comfortable with.

“Ah,” Tony manages as she comes closer, her arms full of supplies. “I’ve got— nanites, inside me. Stopping the bleeding. I’ll— have to… let them out, before you do anything.” Nebula only nods, staring at him, and he swallows, more or less aware that his life is sitting in her hands right now. “You sure… you know, how to operate on a human?” he asks, stalling slightly as he steels himself against releasing the nano-bots.

Nebula only raises a metal eyebrow at him and comes closer, dumping her supplies on the table next to him. “My father, Thanos,” she starts, and he darts his eyes to her, finding her gaze intense and unapologetic. “He would have me torture beings from all over the cosmos.” He has no response to that, and her eyes drop sharply as she begins organising her pile in quick, pointed movements, a buried anger in her voice.

“He would judge me, on the information I could extract,” she continues. “Any failure was met with equal punishment.” Her eyes jump up to his, hard and uncompromising. “It was important they did not die too quickly,” she says flatly. “Believe me, I can repair any kind of creature.”

His mouth opens for a moment, before he swallows dryly. “Ah, well,” he manages. “Lucky me.”

Nebula seems to pause for a second, as if waiting to see if he has anything else to say, and he very carefully does not oblige, all too aware that he, for one, is completely reliant on this woman right now, and two, does not know very much about her.

He supposes he should be a little put off by her history with Thanos, but… he doesn’t really have time for that, to be honest. Regardless of her past, he has to trust her, or, at least trust that right now he is useful enough to her to be worth saving.

Beyond that though, Quill had trusted her, and she had fought Thanos with them. So, no matter her previous relationship with the Titan, it seems that she – like this Gamora woman – had cut ties with him. He thinks back to the ‘equal punishment’ thing she had glossed over, and he can’t help thinking her relationship with Thanos could probably very well be compared to what Bucky had had with Hydra, years ago.

Of course, he doesn’t really know how true that assumption is, but given how psychotic Thanos is, he imagines being one of his daughters wasn’t a walk in the park.

Either way, none of that really matters right now, given his more immediate problem— namely, the hole in his gut.

“Take this,” Nebula says bluntly, calling his attention to her as she shoves her hand in his direction, a small green capsule held between her fingers. “Painkiller.”

Normally, he would be a little skeptical taking random alien painkillers, but at this point, he is willing to gamble, and he takes the pill without protest, swallowing down the antibiotic she gives him just as easily, before finally resigning himself to what needs to be done next.

He sucks in a breath, and braces himself, gritting his teeth as he reaches his hand up and taps on his nano-unit, barely breathing as he prepares to draw out the nanites currently keeping his wound closed. A thin stream of air makes it past his teeth as he begins to pull on the nanites, pain erupting in his gut and warm blood beginning to seep out and wet his stomach as the nanites shift around and reluctantly come loose.

The sensation is not pleasant, and he keeps his jaw locked tight, his eyes fixed resolutely on a spot on the wall as he pants harshly through his nose, his mind far away and concentrated on only the nanites still inside him. A small distant part of him is aware of Nebula scanning him with something, but he ignores her, a strangled noise making it past his throat as he tugs the last of the nano-bots from his wound, slumping back in a tired, sweaty heap as the nanites crawl back into the unit on his chest, leaving his wound to bleed freely.

“Probably— don’t… have… human blood, on board, right?” he gets out, flicking his eyes to Nebula, the woman’s face furled in concentration as she looks up from her scanner and reaches for one of her packets. She doesn’t answer him as she rips it open, pulling out a damp, sterile looking cloth, before moving in on him and running it over his wound.

He can’t help hissing at the cold, sharp burn that erupts at the contact, and his nails dig into the bed, his jaw aching as he clenches it again, sweat breaking out over his shoulders as he tries not to move away from Nebula’s treatment.

“Hold still,” she says sharply, her eyes completely focused on his stomach as she continues to clean out his wound.

“Ghn,” is all he manages to get out.

He will give Nebula one thing, she is efficient— even if she isn’t very inclined to explain what she is doing while she is _being_ efficient.

He will also admit that he is out of it for most of the treatment. At one point, he is pretty sure she runs what she calls a ‘deep tissue repair’ scanner over him, and she is _very_ good at putting pressure on his wound, but other than that, he isn’t too sure what the tubes of creams and gels she uses are for, and he mostly just works on breathing as she wraps his wound, her brow furled in intense concentration the whole time.

At last, everything is finished, and he is left to sit and breathe, trying desperately to keep his vision from darkening as he stares up at the ceiling, his head spinning.

“Drink this.”

A cup is shoved in his face, and he looks down, his vision dipping dizzily as he tries to focus on the cup in Nebula’s hand. He swallows shakily and it takes a moment before he reaches for it with trembling hands.

In front of him, Nebula doesn’t let go of the cup until she is certain he has a steady grip on it, and then she stares and waits for him until he manages to take a drink. Whatever it is, it has the texture of hand sanitizer, but thankfully, the taste of something vaguely sweet.

Nebula nods in approval as he drinks it, and she takes a brisk step away, her movements sharp and efficient as she begins cleaning up the used supplies and closing them away into some kind of bio-containment unit. “It will help you regain your strength,” she tells him without looking at him, her face averted as she settles down with a sterile cloth of her own, seemingly completely focused on washing his blood off her hands.

“Thanks,” he rasps out, his hands wrapping more firmly around the cup. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her pause, her eyes darting up to him for one quick moment, before dropping down again as she focuses back on scrubbing vigorously at the stains on her fingers. 

oOo

Whatever the failings of Nebula’s bedside manner, he will admit that her medical care isn’t all that bad. It probably helps that she is using alien tech— and something which he heavily suspects is similar to Helen Cho’s regenerative tissue machine, but either way, once she is finished with him, he is pretty certain he won’t die from his stab wound.

Which… is… good, of course.

Of course it is, and he has to remind himself of that, because he has worked _too hard_ with Judith all these years to succumb to self-loathing and deprecation. He _has_ to have a will to survive, no matter what Thanos had done, and how many people he had killed (and no matter that Strange had sacrificed everything in order to save him.)

No matter if he still thinks Strange should have left him for dead.

He has to live with the fact that Strange _hadn't_ done that, and he _is_ alive. He has to deal with that, and he has to come up with the next steps he will follow, because thinking over the magnitude of what had happened is too much, but he can think ahead a few steps at a time.

Step one: deal with his stab wound; check.

Step two: figure out if the ship is operational.

Nebula actually solves that step pretty easily for him, once she gets impatient waiting for him to be well enough to look over the ship. No matter the fancy alien tech she had used on him, he is still very much _stabbed_ , and after she treats him, he is helpless to do much besides sit in the med-bay and listen to her as she stalks around the ship.

He can hear her outside for a while, clearing away rocks, and he closes his eyes as she comes back in. His ears follow her around the ship as she checks things over, her metal implants echoing on the metal floors as she searches for any obvious breaches. Evidently, she doesn’t find anything, because, after a while his eyes open as he hears the low rumble of engines trying to ignite.

His heart skips a beat, and he sits tensely at the sound, waiting with bated breath as he listens, willing with all his might for them to catch. Everything is riding on the engines right now. This ship is their only way home— their only way off this planet. If they don't manage to get it working, then they will be trapped here forever.

The sound of the rumbling engines grows, and lights begin to flicker on around him, systems humming and warming up as the ship comes alive. His eyes widen, and the whole ship gives a shudder as the engines finally catch, the rumble turning into a roar as the ship rocks, trying to get up from its compromised position.

His hands dig into the mat under him, and he holds his breath, listening to the ship strain to lift off, the pulse of pain in his abdomen syncing to the increasing speed of his heart as he waits, unable to do anything but hope.

It this doesn’t work, then they might have to wait until he is healed enough to try to repair the ship, and he is sure neither of them really want to stay on the ship that long—

Under him, the whole ship jerks, his hands tightening on the bed in surprise as the engines hiccup—before roaring back again at full force, metal screeching unpleasantly as they gain some forward momentum and begin trying to lift off.

It is hard to tell what kind of progress they are making, since he can’t really see outside from where he is, but he _does_ notice when everything suddenly rights itself, the ship no longer leaning sideways as the engines roar and the frame around him starts to shake, the commotion making it clear that they are in the process of blasting off.

 _Let’s hope this thing is still space worthy_ , is all he has time to think, before the ship blasts forward in one final leap, his entire body pressing back into the bed under him as they reach escape velocity and burst through whatever remains of Titans’ atmosphere.

They don’t die blasting off.

The ship is a least airtight, which is honestly a miracle (although he suspects Nebula had done a few of her own scans and repairs before she had tried leaving), and most of the systems seem to be working too, the artificial gravity kicking in and keeping him on his bed once the initial force of the take off dissipates.

Nebula doesn’t really seem to need him at the moment, so he is left to heal and drift off, his hand coming up subconsciously to rest over the pocket of nanites on his shirt, the ball of Peter’s ashes still inside.

He wakes to find a silvery packet of something being thrown at him, his stomach muscles tensing painfully as it bounces off his chest and lands in his lap. “Eat that,” Nebula tells him bluntly as he blinks blearily, his eyes coming down to rest on the packet, recognising it suddenly as something similar to what he, Strange, and Peter had eaten back on Squidward’s ship.

The thought of Peter— and the reminder that it had been _his_ decision to bring the kid along with him on his quest to Titan— sends bitter guilt and regret pooling in his stomach, and he finds he doesn’t have a witty remark to throw back at Nebula, his tongue heavy and dead in his mouth as he reaches for the food.

Not that Nebula really seems to wait for any kind of response, the woman simply pausing long enough to make sure he will actually eat the food given to him, before she disappears back out of the med-bay doorway.

“What a roommate you’ve found yourself, hey Stark?” he mutters to himself as he reaches for the packet and tears it open, the silver package revealing a collection of some kind of green nuts.

To be honest, Nebula isn’t that bad. She is blunt, and cagey, and definitely on her guard around him, but… in a way, there is a part of her that sort of reminds him of Steve, when the man had first been defrosted, and before they had really become friends.

He can still remember how it had been, before he had really started to figure out how to understand the man. In the beginning, they had both been on their guard really, him because Steve brought up painful memories of his father, and Steve because— well, because he had woken up seventy years in the future, and was unbearably lost and hurt, and had been deeply afraid of showing it.

At least, that is what he thinks anyways. He and Steve hadn't really been good about talking about _feelings_ at that point, which is why Mrs. Blue-and-Robotic reminds him a little of the man. The comparison isn’t perfect, of course, but Steve had been nearly as closed off as she is, in the early days.

Of course, things had changed a little for him, once they had found Bucky, and once he and Steve had begun to rely on and trust each other. He is still kind of amazed by how far they had come from the first time they had clashed together on SHIELD’s Helicarrier. At the time, he never could have imagined how close he would grow with both Steve, and then Bucky, but over the years, he had really come to care about the two of them.

 _I wonder if they are still alive?_ his brain pipes up unhelpfully, and he scowls immediately, pushing away the thought as he reaches for the weird green nuts, his heart beginning to pound a little faster at the distressing question. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. He can’t. Not right now. 

There is no _point_ in worrying about that before he gets back to Earth. Once he gets back to Earth, _then_ he will— He swallows. Once he gets back to Earth, then he will deal with everyone who is dead there. He has no way of knowing what had happened back on Earth, but… his mind flashes over his list of friends and the many, many people he cares about…

And he knows— deep down he knows, it is impossible for all of them to have survived this.

He tries not to think about it. It is impossible, of course, what with Peter’s ashes in a ball in one hand, and Pepper’s engagement ring on the other. One he knows for sure is dead, and the other…

Well, he tries not to think about it.

Instead, he mostly sleeps. His body is rundown enough as it is, and he hasn’t slept since… however long it has been since he left Earth. It had been morning then, but his whole sense of time is screwed up. He has no idea if he is sleeping or eating properly, because he doesn’t know how _long_ it has been for anything.

If Judith could see him now, she would despair.

Instead, he has Nebula. “You’re lucky,” she informs him, on one of the occasions where she reappears to change his bandages. “I was able to repair most of the critical damage. You probably won’t die.”

“Well,” he quips back, all the while holding his shirt out of the way as she runs one of her scanners over his incision. “With _that_ ringing endorsement, I’m golden.”

Nebula only huffs at him, everything about her stiff and calculated as she checks him over, the woman seemingly determined to keep herself as detached from him as possible, regardless of the fact that she is currently saving his life.

“What about you?” he says after a moment of silence. “You hurt at all?”

Her eyes flick up to him for a moment and she stares. “I can repair myself,” she says flatly, making him think he might have accidently hit a nerve.

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” he says quickly. “But you know, for those hard to reach places…” he wiggles his fingers at her. “I have some experience repairing cybernetic implants.”

She raises an eyebrow at him before her eyes drop back to his stomach and she gets ready to reapply his bandage. “Listen to me very carefully,” she says pointedly, her movements stiff and jerky as she begins to wrap his stomach. “ _You_ are here as an engineer. I don’t need any other _help.”_

She spits the word out like it is poisonous, and he flicks his eyes over her silently, his lips pressing together. He doesn’t really know how to read her yet, but it doesn’t take much to spot the slight holes in her hard exterior. She had already claimed once that if he died, she would be fine fixing the ship on her own, but now, she is claiming she is only helping him for his usefulness.

Either way, both excuses try to keep him at an arm’s length, one a contingency in case he dies, and one in case he lives.

He imagines that the idea of attaching herself to someone – even just a little bit – is probably unappealing right now, given how much they had all just lost, all at once.

“Sure,” he says finally, accepting her words for now. He knows a thing or two about pushing people away.

oOo

He stays in the med-bay for now, although, he is aware on some level that eventually he will probably have to move into somewhere on the rest of the ship. He doesn’t really know where Nebula is staying (although to be fair, he doesn’t really know if she _sleeps_ either), but the thought of moving into a deadman’s room…

He shivers. Yeah, for now, he will stay in the med-bay.

He needs to, anyway, because no matter the fancy tech that Nebula had had on hand, and no matter her skills at putting him back together, it doesn’t take long for an infection to set in. The illness isn’t really a surprise, considering the dusty, dirty site of his stabbing, but it is annoying.

Nebula is, of course, unimpressed, her brows continually furled as she feels his forehead. Her scowl of annoyance never leaves her as she feels his fever, and she mutters distinctive phrases at him as she begins to pull out various creams and medicinal tablets, her muffled curses over his weak physiology eventually cycling around to insulting his entire race and parentage.

“Ah well, you got me there,” he mumbles as she places a damp cloth on his head and pointedly pushes a cup of something into his hands. “My dad wasn’t exactly winning any ‘stellar parenting’ awards.”

He has a bit of a hard time tracking the woman in his fevered state, but he sees her shake her head at his words, a scoff bursting from her lips as she sharply runs a scanner over him, scowling all the while at the results.

“ _My_ father replaced a piece of me with a machine every time I failed him,” she gets out, something dark underlining her words. “He meant to _improve_ me, make me stronger. _Your_ father doesn’t seem to have been so kind.”

His mouth opens for a moment and he blinks a few times, taking a sip of whatever she had given him as he tries to process her words. “Well,” he says after he swallows. “You’ve managed to both insult my constitution, judge my father for raising me that way, and also sound extremely tragic in one go. Congratulations.”

Nebula only sneers at him. 

She waits until he drinks the whole of her concoction before she leaves though.

It takes a few days for his fever to go down, and he knows by the end of it, that he has lost of few pounds. However, under Nebula’s watchful eye, he begins to make a recovery, and soon he can handle sitting up with only minimal pain. He even manages to walk around a little, only a slight tenderness to his abdomen from where he had been stabbed.

He still gets tired easily, and if he moves too quickly, he can _vividly_ remember getting stabbed again… but he isn’t dead, and he isn’t dying, so he isn't complaining. 

His recovery doesn’t come a moment too soon though, because almost the _day_ after he is more or less coherent again and relatively pain free, Nebula stalks into the med-bay, her shoulders stiff and her jaw clenched, her entire stance belaying bad news.

“Something’s wrong with the fuel cells,” she says tightly, a solid glare on her face. “We’re losing power.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is the first chapter of aftermath. I was pretty excited to share this actually, since I get to show you some things that we didn’t see in either of the movies.
> 
> It was interesting writing Nebula’s character, considering all the facets of her personality. I hope I am doing her justice!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony investigates the fuel cell problem on his ship... and learns some bad news.

The fuel cells are cracked. Of course they are.

It shouldn’t be a surprise. It _really_ shouldn’t be a surprise, considering how the ship had suffered through a _moon_ crashlanding on top of it, but it is inconvenient as all get out.

“We’re losing power,” Nebula tells him again, this time in the cockpit of the ship, her metal hand gesturing at the screen in front of them. “It was so slow that it wasn’t noticeable until now, but the rate of loss is rising. If we don’t do something quickly, we’re going to run out of power.”

 _And die here, frozen in space,_ Tony finishes for her inside the privacy of his own mind.

Perfect. Exactly the kind of thing his nightmares need.

“Alright then,” he says, only wincing slightly as he lifts his hands to rub them together. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

It isn’t pretty.

Nebula leads him (slowly, because he is still recovering) down to the ship’s engines. Everything is on standby, beyond what they need for basic life support. The cells themselves are kept hidden away under the grating of the engine room floor, and Nebula helps him pull it away in order to get a glimpse of what they are working with.

The set up isn’t actually that different from when he had been working on the SHIELD/Hydra’s Helicarriers, all those years ago (although, back then, the power source had been his repulsor engines, not the fuel cell system that Quill has here.) The actual system itself isn’t that bad. Even the early NASA spaceships had been using fuel cells as a relatively waste free and efficient means of powering their vehicles.

But the cells themselves are damaged. 

“Can you fix them?” Nebula asks him, as he darts his eyes over the scene. Given the state they are in— the majority of the stack melted and warped, thanks to a leak— he imagines she already knows the answer to that question.

“Just give me a sec,” he says anyways, reaching his hand up to tap on his nano-unit. He doesn’t have enough nanites to form a full suit anymore, but he lets the nanites swarm up over his head to form a helmet. The edges remain rough and ragged as his helm-display flickers on, scanning the mess in front of him.

“Well,” he says after a moment. “Good news is these run like the alkali fuel cells back on Earth.”

Bad news is those use a _liquid_ electrolyte solution. Fuel cells are pretty simple actually. Hydrogen atoms flow into an electrolyte, get stripped of their electrons, become ‘ionized’, and then carry a positive electrical charge. After that, the hydrogen combines with oxygen (forming a by-product of water), and boom, electricity for as long as you have both hydrogen and oxygen.

And the electrolyte.

That is the problem here. From his scans, it looks like originally, only one of the cells had been damaged, but unfortunately, the leaking electrolyte had not only been hot, but also highly corrosive, and the breach had damaged three out of the five remaining cells. The two non-damaged ones had been overcompensating for the others as they had slowly lost their electrolyte solution, but now the loss is too great, and they are very quickly going run out of power. 

If hydrogen or oxygen were the problem, then he could rig up something to supply the cells properly, but with the electrolyte…

He doesn’t have potassium hydroxide on hand, and even if he did, he has no way of repairing the damage done to the other fuel cells. There is simply no way of making them workable again.

He curses in the privacy of his own mind, his eyes flicking frantically over the damage, searching desperately for some kind of alternative solution. But his subsequent scans tell him what he already knows.

The fuel cells aren’t salvageable, and if they don’t do something quick, they will lose the only two remaining functional cells they have.

He lets out an explosive breath and folds his helmet away, the nanites migrating back into the unit on his chest as he turns to look back at Nebula. “I’ll be honest, it isn’t looking good,” he tells her, her face a solid mask of stone as he begins to lay out the extent of their bad situation.

The loss of the fuel cells is a blow. As optimistic as he would like to be, he knows there is simply no way to get the ship functioning. They may have been able to blast off of Titan, but they are now trapped up in space, their power source dwindling dangerously.

 _Steps,_ he reminds himself pointedly. He can’t think about dying in the cold void of space. He can’t think about never getting back to Earth again. He can only think about what he needs to do _right now_ , and right now, that includes making sure their last two remaining fuel cells don’t conk out on them.

First step, neutralise the potassium hydroxide.

For most of the spill, the water it had been dissolved in has long since evaporated, which is good, since at least it isn’t hot anymore. It still isn’t safe to touch, but, while Quill’s ship may be lacking in some things, it had come equipped for emergencies, and he finds a supply of acetic acid meant specifically for moments like this.

With that in hand, he and Nebula are able to clean up most of the leaked electrolyte. It is slow, laborious work, and at one point, he is pretty sure that Nebula’s metal hand comes in contact with the corrosive material. She jerks it away almost instantly though, and she doesn’t say anything, so he isn’t sure if she is damaged or not. Looking at her closed-off expression, he decides not to mention it yet.

Besides that incident, the cleanup goes relatively smoothly, and soon it is safe for them to move on to the next step of the plan.

Step two, remove the damaged fuel cells.

Even with the clean up finished, he doesn’t want to risk more leaks — they only have _two_ remaining functional fuel cells after all, they can’t risk them getting damaged. It is a little bit of an operation to remove the damaged cells, but Nebula helps him, her face set in a determined stubbornness as they work together.

There isn’t much talking during most of if, the two of them all too aware of their precarious situation, but Nebula is quick to follow any of his directions as he uses a welder to separate out the damaged cells from the stack, squinting through his protection goggles as he lugs out the now useless units and sets them aside.

Once that is finished, Nebula hands him the reformer, the device imperative if they want to make sure the hydrogen for the fuel cell remains pure, and no pesky CO2 molecules try to make their home inside the cell to form a solid carbonate.

The transfer is a success, and they soon have two fully functioning fuel cells, neither of which are in danger of leaking or breaking down.

Of course, two fuel cells isn’t really enough _power_ to fuel an entire ship, and he spends a few tense hours sitting at the table in the bridge, scribbling out calculations on a flickering electronic screen as he tries to figure out their survival odds. 

The cells themselves aren’t enough to _get_ anywhere. If they tried, the cells could probably run the engines for about 48-hours before the limited power strains the engines and damages something _else_ , so that isn’t an option.

Basically, they are dead in the water.

Their problem is power output. The cells themselves put out enough power to run the basic life support of the ship, as well as the computer systems and lights, but it isn’t enough to actually _get_ anywhere. Nebula tells him they need to reach something called a ‘jump point’ if they ever want a chance of getting anywhere… and they simply can’t do that. The only way they are getting to Earth in this ship is if one of them gets out to push.

So, he is trapped on this ship. Not exactly how he imagined spending the last days of his life but… he supposes Nebula gets her wish. Neither of them will be dying on Titan. Instead, he gets to figure out when exactly they will be dying here.

“With my implants, I will be less of a drain on resources,” Nebula tells him flatly, the woman sitting across from him at the table and managing to sound slightly accusatory as she lengthens their survival time by a few days. To be fair, it really isn’t _his_ fault that he doesn’t have cybernetic parts implanted in him that allow him to survive without food or oxygen for longer, but Nebula still glares at him anyways.

She is right that their limited resources are going to be what kills them though.

First, they might run out of food. Of course, they can ration that, and Nebula claims she needs less than him, so that isn’t his biggest concern.

Second concern is water. That, ironically, isn’t really a problem. As long as their remaining fuel cells stay operational, they will have all the water they could ever need. H2O is one of the by-products of the fuel cell’s reaction, and the water is drinkable. It is one of the reasons NASA had experimented with these types of fuel cells, and it means that as long as they are careful, they won't run out of water.

Third, and the real problem, is oxygen. Well, not exactly _oxygen,_ but CO2. It is pretty simple really. The ship has filters that scrub the CO2 they breathe out of the air. Ordinarily, these filters would be replaced regularly when the ship docks somewhere… but they have no hope of docking anywhere anytime soon.

Eventually, the ship’s air filters will saturate, and CO2 will start to slowly poison them. That is the real problem they face, and once that happens, there is nothing he can do, no trick he can pull out of his sleeve that will fix that.

From his calculations, they have about a month before that happens.

oOo

Living on a ship doomed to die is a bit of a trip for the brain. Logically, he knows it is coming, and he knows with great certainty that there is nothing he can do about it. His death _is coming_ , it is only a matter of time at this point.

It is sort of surreal, and part of him isn’t really sure why he doesn’t just, eject himself from the airlock, or find some sort of fancy concoction amid the med-bay supply to help speed up the process but…

But he doesn’t do that.

He knows he only has a month to live, but this isn’t the first time he has been living with a ticking clock counting down to doomsday. He had had a looming death deadline before, back when he had been slowly dying of palladium poisoning. He can remember back then, when he had been sinking deeper and deeper into reckless behaviour, knowing internally that he was running out of time and could do nothing about it.

He and Pepper had had to talk a lot about that time with Judith actually. About why he had kept it hidden, and how each of them had felt while he had been more or less suicidal.

He feels… different, this time.

Maybe it is because the looming death isn’t a _secret_ this time, and maybe it is because there _really is_ nothing he can do about it. No last-ditch efforts to reverse the problem, no late-night brainstorming… it simply is.

He will regret dying though. Mostly he will regret dying in space. No matter how painful it would be to go back to Earth and find out who had died (and see if Aunt May is alive, and then have to explain to her what he had done), he still… he still wishes he could do that.

It is painful, not knowing who is dead or alive, because essentially, he has to mourn _everyone_. They all might as well be dead, with how impossible it is for him to confirm otherwise. Right now, he is dying, and he is doing it away from all of his friends.

He will never see them again. He will never see Pepper again.

He hadn't known when he had rushed away from her to follow Strange that he would never see her face again. He hadn't known that their last staticky conversation would really and truly be their _last_.

When he had called Steve in a panic, blurting out confusing instructions about Valkyrie and the scepter… he hadn't known he would never be able to talk to the man again. He had had so much he wanted to say to him first. The Avengers had been spread out before all this— thanks to the Accords. He had been planning to meet with Steve and Bucky again once they got back from their most recent trip to Wakanda.

He had been going to show them his new suit. He had been going to talk to Bucky about a new vibranium arm.

And now, none of that is going to happen. He will never see any of them again, and he hadn't even really said _goodbye_.

There is nothing he can do about it though, and maybe it is that helplessness that pushes him into a calm acceptance of his approaching death. There is no point in being angry or depressed or panicked right now. It will do nothing to change the situation, and it will just make him miserable.

He isn’t exactly sure if his mindset is the _healthiest_ one. He would need Judith to help him figure out if he is really in acceptance, or if he is just in denial, refusing to feel anything about his situation…

But either way, it leaves him with only one major step left to do before he dies.

Step three: figure out how to live on the ship with Nebula for a month.

oOo

Figuring out how to live nicely with Nebula is a must, considering how small the ship is. They can’t really avoid each other, and they have a month until he dies (Nebula will live a little longer, until her implants can’t cope anymore), so… unless they want this month to be the worst of their lives, they need to get along.

Nebula doesn’t really seem to be _against_ getting along, but she does seem suspicious of him. Her natural hostility towards him has gone down a little, ever since they had worked together to repair the fuel cells, but she still scowls at him when he finally moves out of the med-bay.

He ends up doing it the day after they fix the fuel cells, the day after he knows how long they have left to live. Med-bay might not be haunted by any ghosts, but it isn’t really that comfortable to be living in long-term, so he gives in and searches for new quarters.

The ship has limited space, so in turn, the livings spaces are small. Still, there are six separate, tiny, sleeping quarters. Nebula informs him of two missing Guardians who he had never met— a talking tree named Groot, and a talking fox named Rocket apparently— so it seems each of the Guardians had had their own room.

He ends up taking the one that had belonged to Mantis (because the one that had been Groot’s had been infested with sticks, and Drax and Rocket’s rooms had had _far_ too many weapons in them.) He is pretty sure Nebula takes Gamora’s room.

The rooms are all clustered together, but he only catches a brief glimpse of Nebula’s room, the door remaining closed nearly 100% of the time. He doesn’t know what she does in there, but for his part, it feels kind of weird to be living in someone else’s room, and he tries not to disturb too much of it.

It isn’t like he has a lot of stuff that he needs to store away (only Peter’s ashes, which he keeps on him), so mostly, he just… exists in the space.

oOo

Just because he and Nebula have separate rooms doesn’t mean they can avoid each other. There isn’t really a lot to do on the ship, since it doesn’t really need to be piloted, but they do have one activity that has them meeting face-to-face at least three times every day.

Mealtimes.

They are probably lucky, since they are now two people eating rations that were meant for six people. But, that doesn’t mean they want to be careless with their food, and once he had finished his calculations on their life expectancy, they had turned their focus to rationing their food.

They won’t starve. The ship has enough food to last them the month they have left, but barely, and they have to portion everything out carefully, so as to not make any mistakes.

There isn’t really any point in taking more food, or hording it, but Nebula seems suspicious of him anyways (he is actually beginning to suspect that she is just suspicious in general, and he himself has nothing to do with it). Either way, mealtimes are a communal activity, because Nebula insists on watching him carefully, in case he feels the need to sneak an extra packet of jerky back to his room or something.

He doesn’t really mind her thinly veiled glares, because beyond that, she isn’t really openly hostile. She is extremely protective of the food, but _she_ doesn’t horde it either. He thinks he can trust her not to try to kill him off faster than he is already dying.

So, with that in mind, he decides to see if he can somehow lessen more of that natural suspicion towards him.

He gets his opportunity during their first meal together, when he notices the corrosive burns on the back of her metal hand as she pushes his allotted food towards him, the two of them sitting on opposite sides of the table in the command center.

“Oh,” he says, without thinking, his eyes glancing over the marks left over from the electrolyte they had been cleaning up. “You burned yourself.”

The words come out with no ulterior motive. He isn’t even really thinking of trying to bond with Nebula by fixing the damage, nor is he clueing in to the fact that he might insult her by bringing up the injury. His mouth had moved on its own as soon as he had seen the marks on her hand, and he is rewarded by having her tense almost immediately, her gaze hard and burning as the offending hand jerks away to get hidden under the table.

“It’s fine,” she says tightly. “I will fix it later.”

His lips press together thoughtfully at her response, and he doesn’t say anything for a moment. Instead he reaches for his first food packet, his eyes flicking briefly over the woman across from him as he tears it open.

Nebula’s face is set in a determined scowl, and she doesn’t look at him as she mechanically eats her own food— one-handed. Her other hand is still hidden, and while he thinks it is still functional – she had been using it moments ago after all – it is clear she doesn’t want to talk about it, or acknowledge the damage to the metal servo.

 _I will fix it later,_ she had said, and he thinks back to how she had previously told him she is perfectly capable of repairing herself without his help. He doesn’t doubt that, but he does have to wonder why she hasn’t done so _already_.

The damage to her hand hadn't looked too severe. Even with just a passing glance he already has a few ideas of what could be done for it so… so there must be a reason why Nebula hadn't fixed it yet.

He flicks his eyes over her again, and reaches for some of the jerky in his bag. “You know,” he says casually, keeping his eyes focused on his food as Nebula’s gaze jumps accusingly up to him. “It’s kind of hard to use your hands to repair damage _on_ said hand…” He darts his eyes up to her for a moment and shrugs. “I could…” Not help. “I could try to take a look at it, if you want.”

Nebula scowls instantly at the suggestion, her shoulder’s stiffening. “I can do it _myself_ ,” she says sharply, and Tony shrugs again, dropping his eyes back to his food and very carefully maintaining a casual, friendly attitude.

“Sure ya can,” he says, waving a piece of jerky at her. “But, you brought me here to fix the engines, and I’ve _done_ that. There isn’t anything _else_ for me to do.” He stuffs the jerky into his mouth, chewing rapidly. “I'm bored, and I want to be useful.” Nebula still looks skeptical, so he throws in one more lure. “Besides, you helped me with my stab wound, I should return the favour.”

Across from him, Nebula huffs and shakes her head, pointedly looking away from him as she jams her hand into her packet and pulls out a fistful of dried fruit.

Tony lets her sit in silence. Whether or not she really needs help to fix her hand, he won’t gain himself any favours by pushing the issue. If this goes anywhere, it will be up to Nebula.

Quill has an impressive collection of 70s and 80s music on his ship, and he is laying on his bunk a few hours after eating, listening to a few of the songs, when a pair of stomping feet come up to his door.

It slides open as he sits up (his stomach complaining only slightly), and he blinks at Nebula standing in the threshold, her hands on her hips and a defensive glare on her face. “Well?” she says sharply. “Are you going to fix my hand or not?”

Tony can’t help grinning as he swings his legs down off the bed. “That’s all you had to say, Frosty,” he says, rubbing his hands together. By the door, Nebula’s scowl deepens.

He is pretty sure the scowl is mostly a front though, because she doesn’t protest or stop him at any point as he collects the things he thinks he will need and leads her back to the table in the command center.

“Where do you want to sit?” he says, nodding to the table, his tools piled in his arms. If anything, his attempt at giving Nebula some control over the situation seems to heighten her suspicion of him, and he endures several seconds of fierce glares before she finally stalks over to the side of the table she had been sitting at last time.

She sits stiffly, as though angry with him, but he isn’t put off by her hostile exterior. He has had _lots_ of experience dealing with repairing implants, and he knows that allowing anyone near something like this takes a lot of trust.

(He can still remember, when he had gotten home from Afghanistan, and had made a whole new arc reactor, because he had needed something that was fully _his_ , and not made in pain and fear. He can remember that even then, even when Pepper had been thoroughly grossed out, he had still insisted that she help him, unable to say in words that he wanted her to be part of this, that he wanted to trust her with this.)

Of course, while Nebula may remind him a little of himself and his arc reactor, she actually reminds him a whole lot _more_ of somebody else.

He waits until she is settled before stepping up to the table, taking care to set his tools down carefully— instead of dumping them out in a jarring crash— the feel of Nebula’s eyes watching him remaining constant for every tool.

“Okay,” he says, stepping over and sitting down so that he is facing her. “I'm just going to take a look for a moment.” He holds out his hand, waiting for her to reach for him first, and she stares at him in silence for a moment, her jaw clenched.

Ordinarily, her glare might convince him that she is absolutely furious with the situation… but he has seen that look before, and he has learned to read the fear behind it too. In front of him, Nebula lifts her hand, and instead of giving it to him, she sets it on the table, unknowingly further mirroring another scared patient of his.

He can still remember when Bucky had looked like that.

Of course, he had looked a little less angry, and a little more blank, but the base emotion is the same. He can remember how it had been before Bucky had started to trust him, before the man had realised that he wasn’t going to be treated the same way he had been with Hydra. He can remember when he had started to accept that he didn’t have to brace himself constantly for pain anymore.

 _My father replaced a piece of me with a machine every time I failed him,_ Nebula had told him, and his lips press together briefly. It isn’t hard to imagine why she and Bucky are reacting similarly right now.

Which only makes the fact that she is even letting him do this at _all_ even more impressive.

And it makes him really not want to mess this up.

To that end, he finds himself narrating his every action, just like he would do with Bucky. He can remember once, after Bucky had grown comfortable with him, he had mentioned how the fact that he and Bruce did something so simple as _tell him what they were doing_ had been almost jarringly different from his experience with Hydra.

“The damage doesn’t look too bad,” he tells Nebula as he looks over her hand, deciding not to touch it quite yet, since she seems to want to keep touching to a minimum. “It looks like you were able to keep the corrosion from getting too severe.”

Across from him, Nebula stares at him for a moment, before looking away. “I could fix it myself,” she says pointedly. “But then I would have to take off the entire hand. This is just easier.”

He nods at her assertion, and reaches for a cloth and some more of the neutralising agent they had been using earlier. “I’m just going to clean it out,” he warns her. “We don’t want any of the electrolyte left behind.” He keeps his eyes focused on his cloth as he asks his next question. “Do you have any pain receptors there?”

Nebula looks back at him with a jerk, her whole body tensing at the question. He doesn’t push it, fiddling with his cloth and the neutraliser as he waits for her to decide how to answer. After a moment she relaxes and looks away again, her voice calm and almost unbothered as she answers him.

“It won’t hurt.”

He nods, although he isn’t sure how much of her words are true, and how much they are a front. “Let me know if it does,” he says, lifting the cloth and moving to her hand. Nebula stares at him, and doesn’t say anything.

He fills the silence with idle chatter, casually informing her of his every move as he cleans out her hand, and then prepares to seal the damage. He doesn’t have the equipment to replace any parts of her hand, but thankfully the damage is mostly superficial, and sealing the cracks should leave it completely operational.

He explains that to her, just like everything else, and it might be his imagination, but she seems to lose some of her outright tension as he works on her. All in all, the session seems to be going rather well.

He is about halfway done, when Nebula speaks up, cutting off his rambled discussion of different types of sealant as she looks at him. “You said you worked on cybernetics before?” she asks, her hand never moving from its place on the table.

He blinks, and lets the topic switch smoothly. “Yeah,” he says, keeping his eyes on her hand. “It’s not very common on Earth right now, but one of my friends has – had – has, a metal arm.” He winces slightly as he struggles with the word tense and moves on quickly in order to avoid thinking about it.

“His was implanted against his will too,” he says, and he can feel Nebula’s interested gaze on him as he works. “He got captured, and his arm was injured, so they replaced it.”

In front of him, Nebula remains silent, and Tony allows his mouth to run as he finishes up on her hand. “He has a new arm now though,” he says, a tinge of pride entering his voice. “I helped design it for him. He says he doesn’t mind his arm now, because it is _his_ now, something built for him that he wanted.”

When he looks up, Nebula’s eyes are almost unreadable, but when he finishes and packs up his supplies, he catches sight of her running her thumb over his repairs, something contemplative in her eyes.

oOo

After that, Nebula seems to mellow out a little. She is still sharp and efficient, but she seems less inclined to believe that he will murder her in her sleep.

A few days after the repairs, he wakes up half convinced she is being murdered _anyways_ though.

She isn’t being murdered, because of course there is only the two of them on the ship, but he realises very quickly that she is having a nightmare, the walls of the small bedrooms doing little to block her gut-wrenching screams.

His breath stutters at the sound and he stares wide-eyed at the ceiling, his mind flashing back to what she had said about Thanos. He swallows uneasily, frozen on his bed in the dark. It doesn’t take much thinking to know that the odds of her taking kindly to him waking her up – or even acknowledging her nightmares in any way – are probably not good.

He always feels awkward about nightmares anyways. It had taken him and Pepper a while to figure out the best way for her to help him through his, and _they_ had trusted each other and genuinely believed that the other person wanted what was best for them.

He thinks it is fair to say that Nebula probably hasn’t had anyone like that in her life.

He doesn’t just want to leave her in the middle of her nightmare though. He can remember being in a similar dilemma a few years ago too, back when he and Steve had been dealing with the political storm that had exploded when Rumlow had blown the UN and Bucky had been arrested.

He can still remember how he had felt, when he had woken up early, only to find Steve in the midst of his own – quieter – nightmare. He had frozen back then too, his mind caught between the realisation of what was happening to Steve, and stuck on trying to figure out what to _do_ about it.

Back then he had been lucky. Steve had woken up on his own, not too long after. But with Nebula… she will probably wake up on her own too, but they are going to be on this ship for a month together. It is almost certain that he will be faced with this dilemma again some time, so he might as well figure out what to do about it.

He tries not to think too hard about what will happen if he gets his _own_ nightmares.

Instead, he makes his decision and pushes himself up, swinging his feet out from the bed in a decisive movement. He doubts waking Nebula up will be a good plan — he is almost certain it will probably get him stabbed again — but he has a different idea.

He slips out of his room and makes his way past Nebula’s. She isn’t currently screaming, but he can still hear her tossing and turning, her staticky breath tight and laboured as she dreams. His lips thin at the sound and he picks up his pace, feeling his way into the command center in the semi-darkness of flickering computer consoles.

“Alright,” he whispers as he pulls up Quill’s music playlist. “Let’s give this a try.”

To be honest, waking up to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” at full volume probably _isn’t_ the most relaxing way of escaping a nightmare, but it _is_ effective.

Two verses into the iconic song and a blue, sleep-deprived, rather irritated looking cyborg marches into the command center, her eyes jumping up to pin him in a glare almost instantly. The irate look doesn’t quite hide the bags under her eyes.

“Why are you playing music in the _middle of the night!?_ ” she yells, the growl in her voice cutting clear through the blasting speakers.

“It’s a good song!” he yells back at her, putting on the act of being nonplused, as though what he is doing is completely normal, and not at all related to his roommate’s sleeping difficulties.

Across from him, Nebula doesn’t look impressed by his excuse. The woman looks practically murderous as she snaps at him to turn it off, and spins on her heel as she marches back to her room, probably muttering vaguely threatening phrases under her breath the whole way.

She had woken up though, and she hadn't killed him doing it, so he counts that as a success.

(A week later, when he is busy dreaming about falling through a portal in space, that just so happens to be full of leaking fuel cells, he wakes up to another ear shattering song being played at full volume. He actually laughs when he hears it. It is really, really unfortunate that Nebula is completely ignorant of what it means to Rickroll someone.)

oOo

Despite the looming Deadline of Death that remains constant, a month also feels ridiculously _long_ , and it is probably a very good thing that Nebula is here. If he had to entertain himself this whole time, he would probably end up taking apart something of vital importance out of simple boredom.

It has been long enough now that they are actually playing games together, and he has the pleasure of teaching her how to play paper football.

He probably should have expected her to be competitive.

They sit across from each other at the table, the glare on Nebula’s face more from intense concentration, rather than from hostility now. She lines up the goalpost for him, and he readies his paper football, flicking it with his fingers and watching it arc through the air.

Nebula snarls at it, her hand breaking position and snatching it out of the air, her face a mask of frustration and annoyance as he draws back out of her space.

“You don’t need to do that,” he says quickly, her reaction making it clear that ‘competitive games simply for fun’ have not really been part of her life experience. “You just hold position,” he reminds her, demonstrating with his own hands and letting her flick the football back at him.

“That was close,” he says, when it misses, and Nebula doesn’t say anything back, her scowl of concentration deepening as she readies her next throw. It lands almost perfectly. “That’s a goal,” he tells her, trying not to smile too much. “We’re now one apiece.”

He can feel the game grabbing her, Nebula’s scowl smoothing out slightly as she looks at him, her voice almost gravelly as she stares up at him seriously. “I would like to try again.”

That is the best thing she could have said, and they continue on playing, a flimsy throw on his part giving her an opening to steal the game. “Now you have a chance to win,” he tells her as he readies his goalposts.

Nebula stares at him for a second, like she doesn’t believe him, before she readies herself, an intense expression on her face as she prepares to flick her paper.

“And…you’ve won,” he says, as the paper football lands between his hands. “Congratulations.”

Across from him, Nebula gives a start and stares at him, as though she has never heard those words before in her life, and certainly hadn't been expecting to hear them now. Her reaction of shock is enough to give him the courage to reach out his hand, her eyes following him as he moves.

“Fair game. Good sport,” he says, fighting to keep from externally reacting as Nebula very slowly reaches towards him to accept the handshake, her grip soft and almost hesitant as she touches him. “Have fun?”

Her eyes dart over him for a second, and she gives a cautious nod, her voice softer than usual as it comes out. “It was fun.”

oOo

His progress with Nebula aside, the month slowly creeps by, and he can feel it as his body starts to slow down, everything a little harder, a little more tiring as the air filters start to fail and the CO2 levels start to rise.

It won’t be a painful death, that at least, he is allowed.

But it is coming.

He records a message for Pepper. His nanites can only form the very basics of his helmet, but it works anyways, and through the deepening fog of his mind, he tries to leave his last words to his fiancée. He knows she will probably never get it, but… he wants to say his last goodbyes anyways.

In his last moments, he wants to be thinking about her.

It is harder to breathe now, or— at least, breathing is less effective now— and he can feel himself drifting as he finishes. His head hurts, a dull sort of headache settling behind his eyes, as he lets himself lay down, his heart heavy in his chest and his stomach churning unhappily as he closes his eyes.

(Nebula had actually given him the last of the jerky today. They are running low on food now, but it doesn’t really matter.)

His discomfort and the effects of carbon dioxide poisoning won’t last much longer. He knows there isn’t much time left. He will pass out soon and— and something.

What was it? Something—

Ah, right. He will die first. That’s what it is. And it will probably be hard on Nebula, and— ah. Nebula arrives, and his head lolls to the side as she picks him up, settling him back gently into one of the command chairs. Her movements are almost uncharacteristically slow and gentle as she leaves him, and for a moment, his eyes crack open, the great emptiness of the starry landscape now before him.

In this detached, distant state of mind, the vastness isn’t so scary. It is beautiful really, and it feels somewhat fitting for it to be the last thing he sees as his eyes slip closed.

His mind drifts, his breathing slows, and then—

Behind his eyelids, a white glow starts to grow brighter and brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to explore the bonding between Nebula and Tony in this chapter since things obviously evolve between them during their month together. Now the ship is breakdown…
> 
> Also. Marvel techno-babbled for five minutes about the ship and I had to go and research fuel cells so I could figure out how they actually work and write Actual Scenes with them. I think what I have is at least 85% plausible. Some of what mcu claimed was a little hard to work with, so I had to fudge a few things to make it work. But yeah. 
> 
> Researching fuel cells. Fun times.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony sees a bright white light, and is vastly confused.

To be honest, he is a little too oxygen deprived to fully understand what is happening. The white light continues to grow, the glow orange behind his eyelids, and his hand moves sluggishly as he lifts it to shield his face. His brow furls at the disturbance, and he can’t help the small, distant thought about ‘actually seeing a white light’ on his trip heavenwards.

It isn’t heaven though, instead, when he finally manages to peel his eyes open, he sees… an angel?

That is the only thought his oxygen-starved brain manages to latch on to, because it _looks_ like a woman is sitting next to his ship— in space— glowing like a supernova.

He stares at her, beyond confused— and also completely incapable of even _trying_ to deal with the situation. His brain simply does not have the capacity to comprehend what he is seeing, let alone try to grasp what it means.

 _Huh,_ it manages, his thoughts heavy and slow as he stares at the glowing woman. _That’s… weird._

It is a good thing Nebula is on the ship.

Once again she keeps the ball rolling, because as he sits slack jawed in his chair, far too mind-boggled to really do anything else, Nebula comes rushing up next to him, her faculties not so affected yet to render her incapable of reacting to the mini-sun next to them.

He glances over at her as she arrives, the woman almost breathless, her eyes wide as she stares at— what is it? An angel? A fairy?

He is busy trying to decide which, when the woman stops glowing _outside_ the ship, and _phases through the window_ to start glowing _inside_ the ship. The light fades, until she looks just like a regular human woman, and his eyes track her dazedly as she looks him over.

“Tony Stark?” she says, and he can only blink at the fact that this fairy/angel woman knows his name. “My name is Carol Danvers,” she continues, flicking her eyes up to Nebula and then back to him. “I’ve been looking for you.”

He isn’t really in a place to be helpful to Carol in any way, instead his mind sort of drifts for a while as Nebula jumps in, her eyes pinned on Carol and her mouth moving a little too fast for him to follow. The two women seem to have a lot to say to each other, but he can’t really focus on their conversation much, their words washing over him without leaving much of a mark.

Nebula seems to have the situation under control though, her hands moving fast, and her voice moving faster as she gestures at him, and at the ship, and then at Carol. The angel-woman seems to at least be able to follow the conversation, and she listens intently, nodding quickly as she too glances at him, something like concern on her face.

Tony’s brain is too tired to try to figure out what they are talking about— although part of him can’t help feeling like he _almost_ knows what it is— and he just lets himself sit, trying to breathe and slow his pulse a little as he waits for the fairy-angel woman and Nebula to finish talking.

It doesn’t take too long before they seem to have said everything they need to say, and the woman — Carol — phases back out of his ship, her white glow lighting up the room again, before she ducks below the ship, and the light fades.

He watches the light ebb with a sort of absentminded interest, before he blinks slightly as Nebula comes over, her brow furled with concentration as she reaches up to strap him into his chair. Her movements are more flustered and agitated than he has ever seen, and it takes a few moments for him to work his tongue around in his mouth so that he can speak up.

“What?” he rasps, the one word trying to encompass his confusion over the entire situation.

Nebula throws a quick glance at him as she tightens the last strap of his seatbelt, before going over to start strapping herself down into the chair next to him. He watches her and her movements are still rushed and— and excited, that is what it is, she is excited. “We’re being rescued,” she tells him.

He stares at her, his brain stalling as he tries to realign himself with this apparent new reality. Being rescued had not been part of the plan. “What?” he says again, because while he had managed to reconcile himself to dying, he isn’t really prepared to suddenly make the mental space for… maybe… not dying.

He hadn't hoped for a rescue at all. Rescue is impossible. Everyone is dead and they don’t even know where he _is_ so—

“That woman said she was sent by your friends to find you,” Nebula continues briskly, her eyes flicking over him before darting out to the window. “She is going to take us back to Earth.”

“W…what?” he says again, his voice a choked whisper this time, his mind spinning as he tries to process Nebula’s words. Everything about it seems too big to be real. It is too much for his oxygen-deprived brain.

Going… back… to Earth. He hadn't— he hadn't allowed himself to entertain that idea since they had discovered the damage to the fuel cells. He had known he wasn’t going to go home. He had known he was never getting back to Earth again. He had known it was impossible, so he hadn't even dreamed about it.

He hadn't even _wished_ for it. The idea is so far out of the realms of possibility, that he can barely comprehend it happening now.

How is he supposed to — how is he supposed to be prepared to go back to Earth now? Minutes ago, he had been dying, and now—

Now he is going back.

He finds his breath quickening at the thought, a wave of far too many emotions crashing down on his brain as the impossible becomes possible in one giant leap. He doesn’t know who Carol is, or how she had found them, but one look at her makes it clear that she can do what she says she is going to do. Even now, as he sits in his chair, he can see the stars begin to blur around them as Carol begins to tow their ship.

He almost laughs. They are going home, and someone really _had_ had to get out and push the ship.

He doesn’t laugh though, because he is busy trying to catch his breath, tears filling his eyes as his body tries to cope with the overwhelming realisation that he really _is_ going back to Earth. He really _is_ rescued. He hadn't expected— he hadn't even _hoped_ —

He gasps, and tears slip down his face as he sucks in another breath, feeling dizzy thanks to the lack of oxygen. He doesn’t know how much longer he has in the ship, but the stars are blurring even faster now, and as he reaches up with one hand to wipe his face, he can hear Nebula muttering under her breath as she times how long it will take them to reach the first jump point.

They really, _really_ are going home.

 _She was sent by your friends,_ Nebula had told him, and as the stars race past, he can’t help turning the phrase over and over in his head. His _friends_ had sent her here to find him. That means that some of them are still alive.

Somebody on Earth will still be alive when he gets back (and he _is_ going back, he _is_ , because he is being _rescued._ ) Fresh tears spark in his eyes and his breath stutters as he realises fully that he really is going back to Earth, and that there will be some survivors there.

 _Who sent Carol?_ he wants to ask, his mind too overwhelmed to try to form the words. _Who sent her? Who is still alive? Who was it?_

He sucks in another breath and wipes his face again, his other hand coming up to brush against the nanite pouch on his shirt still holding the ball of Peter’s ashes.

 _We’re going home_ , he thinks.

oOo

He doesn’t know how long it takes for Carol to bring the ship back to Earth. He imagines it probably doesn’t take long, since he manages to survive the whole trip and doesn’t die from CO2 poisoning along the way. He drifts off a few times though, the blur of stars fading out as his eyes traitorously force their way closed, his exhaustion making it difficult to do anything else.

Always though, he wakes up to a heavy hand on his arm, and Nebula’s voice sharp and insistent in his ear as she shakes him awake. “Do not sleep here,” she tells him pointedly, his blurry vision softening her glare. “Stay awake.”

It isn’t hard to stay awake once they get into Earth’s solar system.

His breath catches as the reality of their rescue becomes even clearer, and he finds his eyes growing wet again as they pass recognisable landmarks, his fingers digging into his chair in anticipation. “That’s Mars,” he tells Nebula in a rough voice that does nothing to hide his emotion. “We’re— we’re almost there.”

His pulse quickens in both hope and fear as they draw near. A part of him is overjoyed beyond words at the fact that he is going home — although it still feels unbelievable, even as it approaches — but another part of him slowly twists around in anxiety the closer they get.

Going home means having to face head on the destruction that Thanos had left behind on Earth. Before he had delt with the loss in a more abstract way. Everyone had been dead, because _he_ had been dead. But now… now he _isn’t_ dead, and he is going to have to live with the fact that some of his friends most definitely _are_ dead.

In front of him, the pale blue crescent of Earth rises up like a sparkling gem, the planet growing larger and larger in the window and driving home the fact that he really _is_ going home. He watches it approach, his breath short and tight in his lungs, the CO2 levels no longer wholly responsible for his breathing difficulties.

He really is going home. He really, _really is_.

He stares with wide eyes as they get closer, his heart pounding with anticipation and apprehension. Almost unconsciously, he finds his thumb rubbing over his engagement ring and he swallows, his eyes fixed on the approaching planet, the individual landmasses starting to make themselves known.

His tongue presses into the roof of his mouth and he clenches his teeth, unable to keep from wondering who among his friends might be still left alive. Who had been able to survive Thanos’ destruction? Had any of the Avengers made it? Is Pepper—?

His thoughts cut off as Carol begins to pull the ship down through the atmosphere. His hands tighten on his chair as the air resistance begins to jostle the ship, Nebula’s foresight in strapping them down beginning to make itself clear. It is harder to breathe – what with the whole ship trying to vibrate out from under him – but even through all the shaking and jostling, he can’t stop from staring out the window, watching as actual _clouds_ race past him.

He hasn’t seen clouds— he hasn’t seen clouds in _forever_.

The clouds part a second later, and his mind is suddenly preoccupied by something much bigger and much more important than simple clouds. His breath catches, and his eyes widen, his heart pounding in his chest as he stares. A headache pulses behind his eyes, his discomfort from earlier still present, but _far_ less important now as he stares out the window, the shining lights of the Avengers compound lighting up the ground below.

On some vague level, he is aware of Nebula next to him, the woman reaching forward to release the landing gear of the ship so that Carol can actually put them _down_ , but most of him is unresponsive, his brain sitting in shock as they land. His hands shake slightly as he tries to come to terms with the fact that he is actually _home._

Nebula takes over for him, picking up where his dazed mind leaves off. In one quick movement, she presses the button to open the hatch, the door letting in fresh air for the first time in weeks.

The effects of new oxygen isn’t immediate though, and his thoughts remain slow as he tries to fumble at the straps of his chair, the clasps seemingly too complex for his scattered brain. Before he knows it, Nebula is up and out of her chair, her hands batting his away as she comes over to tackle the straps, the clasps deciding to cooperate under her deft fingers.

He can’t help staring at her as she works, her face stern and concentrated like usual, but still somehow managing to have a concerned air to it. “Thanks,” he rasps, aware on some level that he wouldn’t be here right now without her.

In front of him, Nebula glances up, her eyes flicking over him for a moment, before she sets her gaze and reaches to carefully help him out of his seat. She doesn’t voice any complaint when he is forced to lean most of his weight on her, the two of them making their first few laborious steps through the command center together. His headache pulses steadily as he moves, his breath laboured and his movements uncoordinated and slow as he clings to Nebula, but he can hardly think of his bodily discomfort. His thoughts spin in disjointed excitement as she helps him towards the exit.

The trip feels agonizingly slow. His heartbeat is loud in his ears as his hands tighten on Nebula’s arms and he manages to drag his head up to look towards the hatch, his eyes straining for his first real glance of home.

They make it to the door, their steps slow and calculated as they start down the stairs. The steps are a little much for his brain right now, and the complicated nature of one foot in front of the other would have probably completely taken up his thought process… if it were not for the fact that he catches his first real breath of fresh air as he reaches the ships threshold.

A cool night breeze brushes lightly over him and his heart stutters, his head darting up as his feet stumble and a new wave of emotion crashes over him.

It is cold. The air is cold. That simple fact takes his breath away. After a month on a ship with a perfectly regulated air supply, the simple touch of a cold wind is almost overwhelming, and his mind sharpens slightly, his thoughts clearing a little as his brain grasps the fact that he has well and truly landed on his home planet.

He sucks in a ragged breath, his eyes wide as they dart around and he and Nebula continue to descend the steps. The green lawn of the Avengers’ Compound spreads out on all sides. Grass, there is grass here, and wind and— and people. His vision is blurry and tired, but as he stumbles down a few more steps, his eyes manage to glance over a cluster of people waiting several feet back.

People. Of course. Some of them are still alive. His heart quickens in his chest and he has to cling to Nebula as his mind races, frantic thoughts over who could have survived crashing around in his brain.

Nebula’s hand tightens slightly on his and he swallows, focusing on his feet as he makes his shaky way down the stairs. He is almost there — his feet are a few steps away from walking on _grass_ — and someone is running up to him, their steps long and frantic as they approach. His head darts up again, and his eyes widen, his breath catching in his lungs as he stops and stares.

“Tony,” Steve breathes, the man alive and in front of him, his hands reaching up to support his arm. His eyes are bright and his voice brings fresh dampness to his eyes as he stumbles down a step, his mouth half-open in shock as he darts his eyes over the man.

 _He shaved his beard,_ a small, distant part of him notes, the rest of it — Steve’s survival and his presence in front of him, a little too much to handle at the moment.

He is alive. Steve had survived.

His breath stutters and he fumbles for the man, his fingers digging into his jacket as he stares at him, breathless and speechless as he tries to come to terms with his survival. Of course he had known that some of his friends had survived, Carol had made that clear, but he hadn't known what to expect— he hadn't _dared_ try to hope for who—

In front of him, Steve looks just as overwhelmed, and he swallows, his own hands just as tight as he grasps his arm. “Tony, you’re alive,” he gets out roughly, his eyes bright, and Tony feels Nebula let go of him as he tries to think back to the last thing Steve would have known of him.

It would have been when he had flown up onto the alien ship with Peter. Everyone back on Earth would have known nothing else of what had happened to him. The memory of that decision, and the people he had been with — now all gone — causes new emotion to rise up in his throat, and his voice grows hoarse as he looks at Steve.

“I lost the kid,” he rasps, the air suddenly tight in his lungs. “I lost him— he’s gone.”

Sadness shines in Steve’s eyes and his hand drifts up to clasp the back of his neck. “Tony,” he says, his voice equally rough. “ _We_ lost.”

He swallows, Steve’s words somehow managing to encompass the tragedy of everything that had happened to them. They had lost. They had lost everything. Everyone had lost. He blinks, and his hands tighten on Steve’s arm as he suddenly remembers another person he doesn’t want to have lost, another person he desperately wants to have survived.

“Is…” His eyes dart up to Steve’s, fear pooling in his stomach as he struggles to ask about Pepper. “Is, uh…”

“Tony!”

His head snaps up at the familiar voice, and suddenly he is enveloped in the arms of the very woman he had been thinking of, Pepper’s voice thin and watery as she hugs him. “Don’t you ever— I told you to come back—” She gasps and clings tighter to him, complete sentences a little too complex for the situation.

“Pep,” he breathes, his voice coming out as a squeak as Steve lets go of his hand and he brings it up to wrap his arms around Pepper. His eyes are wet again, and he breathes out shakily, Pepper’s face pressing into his collarbone as she holds him.

She is alive. She is alive too. Somehow, she had survived.

He doesn’t know how long he stays standing with his arms around Pepper. On some vague level, he is aware of Nebula still by the ship, the woman silently greeting something small and furry that — if he had been thinking more clearly — he probably would have been able to recognise. He can’t really think much beyond the soft reality of Pepper in his arms though.

He doesn’t _want_ to think much beyond that. If he thinks too hard, then he will start wondering who else beyond Pepper and Steve is alive. If he thinks too much, then he will look up and try to see who else had come to greet him.

He doesn’t want to do that, not yet. If he keeps his head down, and his nose buried in Pepper’s hair, then he doesn’t have to face the rest of reality. He doesn’t want to see who is missing, who hadn't come.

He doesn’t— he doesn’t want to deal with that.

He can’t avoid it though. For one thing, Pepper’s body against his presses the pouch of nanites into his side, the hard ball of Peter’s ashes sitting as a constant reminder of what he had lost, and what he still has to lose.

Even as he tries to ignore the feel of it against him, he can’t help shivering from the cold night air, and Pepper pulls away at the movement. He lets her go reluctantly, before looking down to find her eyes searching his, her gaze scanning his sorry state as she takes in what a month trapped on a spaceship has done to him.

“We should get you inside,” she says determinately, her hand coming up briskly to wipe at her eyes, before she offers him a small, watery smile, her other hand never once letting go of him as she turns to lead him back into the Avengers’ Compound.

He can’t help glancing over his other companions as he heads inside. Steve and Pepper are not the only ones who had come outside to meet him, and with the initial greetings finished, he has nothing to prevent him from looking over the rest of them, trying to calculate who had survived… and who had died.

The small furry thing which had approach Nebula is some kind of… raccoon or something, and he decides that it is probably the Guardian Rocket, which Nebula had told him about (although she had called him a fox, so he could be wrong about that.)

Either way, the two of them follow along behind the group, and the group…

He isn’t really sure if his shortness of breath is from walking farther than he has in a month or… or if it is because of the smallness of the number of people around him.

Natasha is here, her hair white and short as she walks solemnly next to him, her hands in her pockets. He almost laughs at the sight of her hair, because he remembers now that she had dyed it that way not too long ago, and that she had been intending to show it to him the next time she had had the chance.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

Besides her, he can see Bruce — or, more accurately Hulk/Bruce. The man is still in the semi-transformed state that he had last seen him in (although, it seems to be… a permanent thing? He is wearing tailored clothes after all). It is a bit unexpected to see, and he can’t help staring at the man, even if he is too tired to try to question it.

It is jarring, the little changes that had happened to Bruce and the rest of his friends in the short time he had been away. He can tell that Bruce is still fundamentally himself though, the man continually throwing him worried glances as they walk along the grass.

He imagines he will be getting a rather thorough check up once he gets inside.

The only other person who had come outside is Rhodey, and he can’t help the wave of relief he feels at the sight of him. Rhodey is one of his oldest friends, and he hadn't been able to say anything to him at _all_ before he had left Earth, so he is glad that he is still alive.

He can’t help the twisting in his stomach at the thought of all the missing faces around him though.

Once they get inside, he gets the reassurance of a few more familiar faces — a few more people who hadn't died. He is a little too tired to notice much about the compound, but he does notice as they pass Valkyrie, the woman solemn and quiet as they walk through the hallway. Further in, his eyes glance over Clint and Thor, the two just as quiet as he is guided through the living area.

Even in his ragged, half-dead state, he can tell that they aren’t much better. Clint raises his hand to greet him as he passes by, but he doesn’t say anything, dark bags sitting under his eyes as he leans dejectedly against a doorframe. Thor doesn’t even get up as he passes, the man’s eyes barely tracking him as he sits blank-faced at a table, a hoodie replacing his usual Asgardian garb.

Their condition doesn’t bode well, but Tony finds he has bigger problems as Pepper guides him down to the med-bay section of the compound. His feet begin to stumble and shuffle under him as the shock and overall exhaustion of the day begins to take its hold.

Pepper’s hands tighten on him, her lips pressing together determinately as she leads him through a door and pulls him over to one of the hospital beds, Bruce following along behind her as the rest of the Avengers cluster around in a group outside his room.

It feels weird, being watched by all of them, but he finds that he is too tired to say anything about it, and it is all he can do to sit and form answers to Bruce’s questions about his condition. His head feels heavy, and his headache makes his skull pound, his own voice feeling far away as he talks to the man. He blinks, and then he blinks again, the intervals between each blink seeming to get longer and harder to avoid.

Distantly, he is aware of Bruce speaking faster, and of Pepper’s hand tightening on his arm… but none of those things seem to matter much anymore, because his eyes slip closed, and this time, he is too tired to try to open them again.

oOo

He wakes up to the softness of a bed and the warmth of a heavy comforter, both things startlingly different from the sparce bunk he had been sleeping on for the last month. The lights are dim as his eyes flutter open, and he stares at the darkened ceiling for a while, before he wakes up enough to become aware of something hard and plastic over his face.

He tries to lift his hand to investigate, but that one ends up having a bunch of wires on it, so he is forced to switch hands. His eyes go cross-eyed as he focused down on whatever is covering his nose and mouth.

His breath fogs on the plastic, and before he can grasp at it, a hand comes up from his side and wraps gently around his wrist. His eyes dart over, and in the dim light he manages to make out Steve sitting next to him, the man looking slightly bedraggled, even as he smiles at him.

“Bruce says you should keep the oxygen mask on,” he says softly, his eyes flicking over him, as though trying to assess his condition in the dark. “He says you should be okay though.”

Tony nods slowly, now able to properly recognise the oxygen mask on his face now that Steve has identified it. Steve lets go of his hand at his acceptance, and Tony flicks his eyes around the dimly lit room, noting the solitude they are in.

“Pepper?” he asks, the mask on his face making talking a little more difficult than usual.

Next to him, Steve’s face softens, and he offers him a slight smile. “I sent her to bed,” he says, his voice still hushed as he shifts in his seat. “It’s pretty late.”

Tony flicks his eyes over Steve and doesn’t bother to mention the fact that if it is late for _Pepper,_ then it is late for _him too_. Instead he swallows, finding his mouth parched and dry. “Water?” he asks next, his voice rasping in his throat.

Steve nods and reaches over to help him sit up, before getting up to fetch a small plastic cup of water with a straw. He is allowed to remove the mask as he drinks, and the two of them sit in silence as he slowly sips at the water, his body still feeling shaky and tired as he looks over at Steve.

He looks… worn.

He can’t think of a better word for it. He looks smaller than before, his face tired and his shoulders slumped as he sits next to him, a soft expression still on his face. He notices him watching him, and his mouth twitches up just slightly at him.

“It’s good to see you, Tony,” he says quietly, and he nods.

“You too,” he rasps, his hand tightening slightly on his cup as he looks at him, a thread of unease starting to twist around in his gut as he thinks over what must have happened on Earth. He doesn’t really know much. Thanos must have come, and he must have taken the Mind Stone, but he doesn’t know _how_ that had happened…

And he still doesn’t know who all had died.

He can probably guess, given who he hasn’t seen yet, but he doesn’t want to do that. He still wants to hope — he still wants to hold onto the chance that he is wrong.

He has to know though, and he can’t stop himself as he glances up to meet Steve’s eyes. The man stares back at him, and he can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows what he is going to ask, and he can tell that the answer will not be easy for either of them.

He swallows and breathes in, his eyes dropping to his cup for a moment, only a few centimeters of water left for him to stall with. His lips press together, and he drinks the last of it, the water hitting cold and hollow in his stomach as he breathes in and looks back up at Steve.

“What… happened?” he asks quietly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Tony finally gets rescued from space… although he is a little out of it for most of it. It would be really overwhelming I think to go through that.
> 
> And we finally get to see the other Avengers again. Things are rough right now, but I definitely wanted the reunion between Tony and Steve to go better, since they are friends in this universe.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve and Tony talk about what he missed.

Steve winces at his question, his eyes dropping away for a second. His hands tighten in his lap as he looks down, his lips pressing into a thin line. Tony swallows uneasily at the sight and he quietly replaces his oxygen mask, reaching out to Steve with his empty cup and forcing the man to look up at him as he takes it.

Steve’s eyes don’t quite meet his as he sets it aside, the plastic tapping hollowly on the bedside table beside them, the sound loud in the quiet room.

“You should rest,” he says instead of answering his question, his eyes coming up to stare at his shoulder instead of his face as his hands pull back to sit limply in his lap.

Tony’s lips press together, and he swallows again, his eyes on Steve. He can tell that he doesn’t want to talk about it— and to be honest, he isn’t really looking forward to the conversation either— but they will need to talk about it _eventually_ , and he doesn’t think he can stand living in suspense for too much longer.

If he waits, all he will do is try to speculate on everyone who might be dead — without being able to _know_ if he is right or wrong.

“Steve,” he says quietly, a note of pleading in his voice as he looks at him. His eyes jump up to meet his at the sound, and they flick away almost as quickly. Steve’s mouth presses downwards before he lets out a long sigh, his hand running tiredly over his face as he slumps slightly in his chair.

“We… couldn’t stop Thanos,” he starts quietly, the words dropping like stones into the air. Tony swallows uneasily, his eyes darting over Steve as the man closes his eyes for a moment, before giving his head a shake, his eyes opening again as he breathes in through his nose.

“After…after you called, we found Valkyrie without too much difficulty,” he says, his eyes coming up to meet his, his mouth twitching in a pale memory of humour. “You were right about her being unimpressed with her situation,” he says, the barest hint of amusement in his voice, before it drops away again. “She explained what was happening though.”

His eyes shift away, and he looks over to stare past the bed, his hands coming together tightly in his lap. “By then we were getting reports of what was happening in New York,” he continues, without looking at him. “And it was obvious that we needed to get all hands on deck.”

Tony nods, and listens as Steve continues to explain how Bruce and Natasha back stateside had begun calling in everyone they could get. “Bruce had Wong portal people over,” he says, his eyes darting up to him for a second before dropping down to rest on the blankets. “Natasha couldn’t get in touch with Scott in time, but Clint, Rhodey, and Sam came along, and soon we were all in Wakanda, trying to prepare the best we could.”

Tony had been right about Wakanda being a good place for the stone. Apparently the Evil-Villain Twins had come after the stone not long after they had started assembling, but they had been able to fight them off without too much difficulty.

“We knew that couldn’t be the end of it though,” Steve continues, his hands tightening slightly in his lap. “They had given up too quickly, and from what Valkyrie had said Thanos had done to the Asgardians…”

He trails off for a second, before sucking in a breath and continuing. “T’Challa was preparing the Wakandan armies, and Shuri was doing her best to try to destroy the stone.” Tony’s eyes dart up at that, but Steve doesn’t meet his gaze, his eyes distant as he swallows and breathes in.

“We knew we were working against the clock,” he continues, his jaw clenching as he ducks his chin and flicks his eyes to him. “We didn’t even know what had happened to _you_ yet, and we didn’t know for sure if we even _could_ destroy the stone, but we knew we _had_ to, and we had to buy as much time as we could for that.”

Tony swallows, and tries not to think too hard about the fact that if he had been able to stop Thanos back on Titan, then Steve and the others would have had all the time they needed to destroy the Mind Stone.

If he had managed to stop Thanos back on Titan, then none of this would have happened. Stopping Thanos on Titan was really the only chance any of them had had. As soon as Thanos had gotten the Time Stone, things had become a whole new ballgame.

Stopping Thanos from getting the Time Stone was the only chance the others had. Even if Steve _had_ been able to destroy the Mind Stone, it would mean nothing to a Time Stone-powered Thanos.

And Strange had given up the Time Stone in exchange for his life.

They had lost everything in exchange for his life.

“Thanos’ army didn’t take long to arrive,” Steve continues, oblivious to his thoughts. “Wakanda’s defenses were effective, but eventually we were forced to engage, mostly trying to give Shuri enough time to destroy the stone.”

He shifts in his chair, his eyes going distant as he thinks. “It…” he swallows. “It wasn’t really a winnable battle, not unless the stone got destroyed, but–” his mouth twitches upwards and his gaze shifts to him. “Thor came in the middle of the battle. He had a new axe and— and new allies. A racoon named Rocket, and… a tree named Groot.”

Tony nods at that, a small smile of his own finding place on his face. “The Guardians,” he says, nodding at Steve. “Nebula told me about them.”

Beside him, Steve nods back and breathes in. “Even with the extra help, we were overwhelmed,” he says, and Tony is sure that if he could see better in the dim lighting, then Steve’s hands would be white in his lap with how tightly he is holding them.

“One of the attackers broke into the palace,” he continues. “Valkyrie kept him from killing Shuri, but he got the staff, and…” he swallows, his hands twisting in his lap. “And… Thanos was coming.”

Tony’s eyes close, his hands tightening on his blankets, aware now that they are getting to the part in the story that happens after he had failed. He opens his eyes again as Steve takes in a shaky breath and runs a hand through his hair.

“We killed the one who had taken the staff,” he says bluntly, his eyes dull. “But Thanos—” his lips press together and his jaw clenches. “It wasn’t— there wasn’t really a plan anymore. We couldn’t destroy the stone now that it was out of Shuri’s hands, and we were just trying to keep it away from him. Maybe if I had found Wong—”

He cuts off and breathes in, his eyes blinking rapidly as he squares his shoulders, his chin dipping as he swallows. “We almost—” his tongue works around in his mouth and he clenches his teeth. “Thor almost managed to stop him,” he gets out roughly, his shoulders pushing back into his chair as he stares hard at the edge of the bed. “He didn’t— we couldn’t stop it though. And Thanos had all the stones, and all he had to do was— was snap his fingers.”

His voice breaks slightly on the last word, and Tony flicks his eyes over him, swallowing uneasily as a sick feeling twists around in his stomach. Steve doesn’t look at him as he continues, his eyes pinned to his hands as he speaks in a dull, empty voice.

“Thanos left after that,” he says. “We didn’t know where. He just–” he waves a hand vaguely, his eyes still downcast. “–left through a portal. And after that—”

He chokes off and Tony’s stomach twists, knowing what is coming next. “Who did we lose?” he whispers roughly, and Steve’s eyes flick up to meet his for the first time in a while. They drop again to focus on his lap, and he watches Steve’s fingers knot together, apprehension swirling around in his chest as he waits.

“A lot,” Steve finally gets out, his shoulders rigid as he stares intently at something on the ground. “We— um,” he closes his eyes and breathes in. “T’Challa is gone,” he starts off bluntly, his shoulders slumping as he opens his eyes and stares down at his hands. “Shuri too, their mother is now ruling Wakanda. Sam—” his lips press together, and his eyes flick up to him before glancing away. “We couldn’t find him,” he says to the edge of his bed. “Nobody saw it happen, but we’re assuming…”

Tony nods, his eyes wide as Steve licks his lips before continuing to go down the list. “Clint’s whole family is gone too,” he says lowly, and Tony feels his stomach drop, his breath stalling in his lungs. The man’s whole family… no wonder he had looked so broken last night.

“He had moved them to the compound bunker when you got taken from New York, and Natasha called him up,” Steve continues, his eyes downcast and staring at something that he can’t see. “We got back, after everything, and all of them were—”

He breathes in sharply and swallows, his shoulders squaring again as he looks up at him. “We think Scott is gone too,” he says tiredly, the lines on his face suddenly deeper in the dark. “Everything is still pretty hectic right now, but we can’t find him, or really any of his people.”

Tony’s heart clenches at that. For some reason he hadn't been expecting that. For some reason some part of him had assumed that Scott had survived, and to hear that _none_ of his team seems to have survived the fallout…

In front of him, Steve isn’t finished, and Tony finds his mouth is rather dry again as he looks at him. “Rocket’s friend, Groot, died too,” he continues, and Tony feels a slight twinge at that, knowing that Rocket and Nebula are now the only survivors of their whole group.

He gets distracted from that thought though as, next to him, Steve shudders and breathes in, his face tightening into something pained and dreadful. Instantly, Tony feels his whole body run cold, his eyes widening and his heart beginning to pound as he stares at Steve, suddenly desperately wishing he won’t continue.

He doesn’t want to hear what he has to say, but his tongue remains frozen in his mouth and his mind stays blank as he sits. His brain stubbornly refuses to try to speculate on who is left on the list because— because—

“Bucky is gone too,” Steve manages, his voice rough and strained, his body tense and closed off. His hands shake just slightly in his lap as he stares resolutely at the edge of the bed. Tony stares too, frozen and speechless in his bed, his hands numb on his blankets as he tries to take in what Steve is saying.

Distantly, he knows that he had already known what Steve was going to say. If Bucky was alive, then he would have seen the man already. There is no way he wouldn’t be by him or Steve right now, after everything that had happened.

The reason he _isn’t_ here is because—

“He was—” his eyes flick to Steve as the man speaks up, and he watches his throat flex as he swallows, his hands twitching in his lap as his eyes glisten and refuse to meet his. “He was there, and then he just… wasn’t,” he continues in a rough, soft voice, and Tony can feel his eyes widen even more as he realises that Steve must have been with Bucky when he had died.

“He was with you?” he asks, his voice catching slightly in his throat as his hands tighten further on his blanket.

At his words, Steve finally looks up at him, and he watches him blink his eyes dry, his distress from earlier shuffling slightly to the side as he sits back in his seat. “Yeah,” he says simply, his eyes suddenly blank and his voice dull.

He blinks, and Tony watches as his whole emotional state seems to shift, like switching gears in a car. Steve’s mouth twitches slightly, as though remembering something humorous, but the motion is more robotic than anything else. “You know,” he says, his voice flat as his gaze turns to him. “He always said he would come fight if there was an alien invasion.”

Tony nods dumbly, unable to keep his eyes off Steve as the man breathes in and gives his head a shake, his eyes flickering slightly as his shoulders settle into something straight and calm. He looks up and his eyes aren’t empty anymore, but they aren’t— there is still something missing in them, and Tony stares at him, his hands cold and his ears buzzing as he watches the man box up his pain and fold it away— practically in front of his very eyes.

A flare of panic rises in his chest at his behaviour, because he knows instinctively that it _isn’t right,_ and he doesn’t really know what to do with it.

“Steve—” he tries, and the man meets his gaze, his eyes calm and controlled and so, so wrong.

“Fury is dead too,” he says, and Tony can practically feel a wall settling between them. His heart pounds in his chest as he sits and listens to Steve determinately move on and report Fury and Maria Hill’s death, and then Carol’s subsequent arrival, with mission-like efficiency.

He wants to say something— he wants to. But Bucky’s death seems to leave him tongue-tied, and he can only stare as Steve avoids the topic and finishes explaining how they had sent Carol after him.

“We didn’t— we didn’t know if you were alive,” he says, a flicker of vulnerability sneaking into his gaze again as his eyes dart over him. “Rocket gave Carol the signal for his ship, just in case she could find the Guardians, and we gave her the signal for your suit, just in case…”

He trails off, and Tony stares at him, his mouth dry and his mind reeling from the rollercoaster this conversation has been. The shock of having a concrete list of everyone who is dead, and then Steve’s sudden shutdown over Bucky, and then the knowledge of how hopeless it must have been for them, not knowing where he was, but sending Carol on what was essentially a wild goose chase _anyways_ …

“I— I’m glad you’re alive, Tony,” Steve says softly, and he can only nod at him, his breath shaky in his lungs and tears threatening at his eyes as he looks at his friend.

Steve nods back at him and takes in a breath, his hands untangling in his lap and rubbing against his legs as he glances around the room and sits back in his chair. His eyes come up to meet his again.

“You should get some rest,” he says, his words a shutting door as he ends the conversation.

His heart lurches at that and he feels something sharp and desperate rise in his chest as he looks at Steve. There is still so much in the air, heavy unsaid words sitting between them thanks to what had happened. Steve had answered his question, but it was like his explanation had been determined to only skim over the emotional turmoil their new reality.

He can understand why he doesn’t want to get into it, but it is obvious to him that Steve is more deeply affected by Bucky’s death than he will let on— heck, _he_ hasn’t even started to process it yet, and he can tell just by looking that Steve is hurting.

But the man isn’t acknowledging it, and he isn’t sure if Steve is simply refusing to do so in general, or if it is because of _him_ specifically. His brain tries to hiss at him that Bucky wouldn’t have even died if Strange had let _him_ die instead, and the thought makes him nauseous as he looks at his friend. (But. Steve cannot blame him for what happened, he _knows_ this. He does.)

(For one thing, Steve doesn’t even _know_ that they had lost because Strange had let him live.)

Oblivious to his internal dilemma, Steve continues, his eyes glancing over him as he talks. “We will be leaving soon,” he says quietly. “Nebula tells us she knows where Thanos went. And we have evidence that he used the stones again two days ago.”

Tony’s thoughts are ripped away from his current concern over Steve, and he finds himself staring at the man, a cold pit opening up in his gut as he listens.

“Rocket and Nebula are just fixing the ship you came in,” he continues, his eyes back to the same calm, matter-of-fact, blankness they had been before. “We’re planning to go after him when it’s ready.”

Horror surges in his stomach and his eyes widen, his breath catching behind his oxygen mask as he sits up taller. His hands turn into tight fist. on his blankets as he stares at Steve, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Are you crazy?!” he bursts out, his breath fogging up the oxygen mask as Steve darts his eyes up to look at him. “You want to go after _Thanos?!_ ” he continues, his pulse loud in his ears and his breath thin in his lungs as his mind spins at this most recent revelation.

“Tony—” Steve starts, his hand twitching in his lap as he reaches for him, only to pause as Tony shakes his head, his hands trembling from where they are clutched at his blankets.

“You’ll die,” he says, his voice smaller and more vulnerable than he would like as he looks at Steve. “You said he still has all the stones— and you’re going to go after him _again_ — Steve, you’ll _die.”_

He can hardly feel his hands anymore as he stares at Steve and his mind helpfully plays back his last battle with the Titan. It had been seven of them against one, and Thanos hadn't even had _all the stones yet_ , but they had still failed. He had nearly been killed— Thanos had pulled a whole _moon_ down on them— going after him now is practically suicide.

“Tony, breathe,” Steve says, and he jolts back to the present, Steve’s concerned face beside him as he sucks in a frantic breath, his vision blurring. He drags in another breath, the oxygen mask pressing against his face as his heart beats painfully against his chest. His eyes dart over to scan Steve, the man watching him intently.

“It’s okay, Tony,” he says quietly, his hand next to him on the bed. “We’re not going to die.”

He shakes his head in denial, but he can’t get a word in edgewise before Steve grasps his hand, the sudden warmth of his fingers shocking against the cold of his own hand. “It's okay,” he says again, his voice soft and sincere as he tries to comfort him. “We have Carol now, and we’ll be taking Thanos by surprise.”

Tony swallows dryly and finds his hand tightening on Steve as he flicks his eyes over him. Even with Carol, even by taking Thanos by surprise, Steve has _got_ to know that going after the Titan is a near impossible task.

(He had been trying to take Thanos by surprise. That had been _his_ plan. And it hadn't worked.)

“You’ll die,” he says again, and Steve shakes his head, his hand squeezing his.

“We have to try, Tony,” he says, his eyes staring into his. “Thanos has the stones, and he has already proven that he is willing to use them twice. We can’t just leave him with them.” His lips press together, and his eyes flick down for a moment. “And if we can find some way to reverse this, then— well…”

He shrugs, and Tony realises suddenly that he has no hope whatsoever of talking Steve out of this. Not only does this mission seem to be approved by the rest of the Avengers already, but a memory rises up in his mind that fills him with a special new type of dread as he stares at the man.

The memory is from years ago now, back when Bucky had first come to the Tower, and he had been using the BARF tech to help him combat Hydra’s trigger words and regain his memories. He can still remember his surprise when Bucky had come to him one day, wanting to explore a specific memory that had related to Steve.

He hadn't known what to think at the time, but once Bucky had gotten started, it had very quickly become clear that neither of them were prepared for what they were going to see. The memory had been from when Bucky had been a captive of Hydra, and when the organisation had informed him of Steve’s death.

He can remember how devastated the holographic Bucky had been, and in turn how shocked the real Bucky had been… but that isn’t what catches his memory now. Instead, it is a secondary memory that he had seen play out afterwards, one from before Bucky had been captured by Hydra, the man still in the army and asking Peggy to look after Steve in case he died.

 _“If I die, Steve’ll try to mourn all private-like,”_ he had said, complete certainty in his voice. _“Draw into himself and bottle it up until he finds himself another mission.”_

Tony swallows dryly, his eyes pinned to Steve’s face as he realises that he is watching Bucky’s prediction come true in real time. _“When he does that, he won’t stop pushin’ himself until he drops,”_ the man had said. _“He’ll find himself a goal and then he’ll push himself to the end of the_ world _if he has to, in order to complete it.”_

 _This is it,_ he thinks dazedly, _the new mission he has found himself. It is too late to stop it._ Maybe if he had been here a month ago… maybe then he could have done something to curb this. But he hadn't been here, and besides that, all the other Avengers seem just as willing to go after Thanos.

He gets it, he really does. But they had _just_ tried with everything they had to stop the Titan, and it _hadn't worked._ They had lost, and he has only _just_ come back to find out that some of his friends had managed to survive that attack. He had thought them dead for a month— and some of them _are_ dead, but some of them _aren’t_.

He doesn’t want to risk losing them all over again.

Especially when he is stuck here, unable to do anything about it.

“I should be going with you,” he finds himself saying without thinking, and he already knows, before Steve starts shaking his head, what he is going to say.

“Tony, no,” he says, his hand tightening on his. “You just got back. You’re skin and bones as it is. You need to stay and heal.”

Tony’s lips press together, and he swallows unhappily. Internally he knows what Steve is saying is true. If he were to go with him and the others right now, he would be more of a liability than an actual help, but if he _doesn’t_ go, and they all die fighting Thanos… he doesn’t think he will be able to cope with that.

“Don’t you _dare_ die,” he says, his breath short and his grip probably painful on Steve’s hand as he looks up to stare into his eyes. “Don’t you dare, do you understand? You better come back.”

In front of him, Steve swallows and nods solemnly. “I will,” he says.

Back in the bed, Tony pushes away memories of holo-Bucky learning of Steve’s death in the ice, and he tries not to think too hard about the fact that he had made the exact same promise to Pepper, before he had left Earth and almost died a month ago.

oOo

The other Avengers — the remaining ones at least — come and visit him before they leave to go after Thanos. They are happy to see him alive, he can tell, but it is obvious that their recent defeat sits over them all like an ever-looming dark cloud.

With Thor and Clint, it is especially prominent, and he can’t help feeling guilt as he looks over them. On some level, he knows that it isn’t _actually_ his fault that all this had happened… but he still can’t help thinking that if Strange hadn't handed over the stone when he had — if he had left him to die and had tried to run instead _like he had said he would_ — then maybe Steve and the others would have had enough time to figure out how to destroy the Mind Stone.

Maybe none of this would have happened.

Of course, he would then be _dead_ , but…

He shakes his head and pushes the thought away. He can already hear Judith’s voice in his head as she walks him through dealing with self-deprecating thoughts. The woman had had a lot of suggestions for that, but he doesn’t really get a chance to focus on them because the thought of her suddenly reminds him that he will have to see if she is still alive at some point.

He already knows he won’t be going to see her, even if she is alive. Earth is so much of a mess right now, and he knows for a fact that – if she is alive – Judith will be dealing with her _own_ problems and grief, so it wouldn’t be fair to try to get her to help him deal with a catastrophe that no one had been prepared for in any way.

But he still wants to know if she is alive.

He doesn’t really know how he will be able to do that though, considering the state everything must be in, thanks to Thanos.

But, maybe, _maybe,_ if the Avengers succeed in their mission, maybe they can reverse all that.

He holds onto that thought as, a day or so after he arrives back on Earth, the repairs to the ship are finished, and the Avengers prepared to leave.

“It looks like you don’t have any permanent damage from your exposure to carbon dioxide,” Bruce tells him, the doctor preforming one last check up before he packs off on the ship with the rest of the crew. “You lost a lot of weight though, so be sure to follow the diet plan I gave you while we’re gone.”

Tony nods at that, and flicks his eyes over his friend, trying not to think about how this could be the last time he is seeing him. “You decided to stay green?” he says instead, glancing over the Bruce/Hulk transformation with interest.

Across from him, Bruce smiles and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I did this for the battle in Wakanda too, and when I wanted to go back, he didn’t think it was fair.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at that, and Bruce’s smile widens. “It’s true, if you think about it,” he continues, shrugging his shoulders. “In this form, I get the strength of Hulk, but my brains and sense. It's a constant balance though, we’re both giving and taking. If I go back to being just me whenever I don’t need the Other Guy, then the balance is off.”

Tony nods slowly at that, and Bruce shrugs again, shaking his head. “It’s not that bad,” he says, flexing his large hands. “If the Other Guy is willing to step back a little on the emotional side of things, then I can stand being green all the time.”

Tony grins at that, unable to keep himself from humming the first few bars of _It’s not easy being green,_ drawing a scoff and an eyeroll from Bruce once the man realises what he is doing. “It’s not that hard,” he says, his eyes dropping as he begins to get ready to leave. “Most people are too distracted now-a-days to worry about one random green guy.”

Tony sobers slightly and nods, his mind flashing over to someone who probably _would_ care. “Is Ross alive?” he asks, curious as to whether the man had managed to cling to life despite the odds. If he had, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn if the man was still trying to make things difficult for them, even after this largescale disaster.

In front of him, Bruce’s mouth quirks up into a crooked smile. “No,” he says, something suspiciously like satisfaction in his voice. “As far as we can tell, he’s gone.”

Well. At least there is that.

oOo

Even though he knows he can’t go off with the Avengers, it still feels wrong to let them go off alone, and he can’t help the twisting anxiety that settles in his chest after they leave. He knows they have Carol, and he knows they are as strong as they possibly _can_ be right now but…

But he really doesn’t want them to die.

Steve is right though, Thanos cannot be left with the stones. He just hopes that the Avengers will be able to stop him, and maybe find some way to undo what he had done.

Either way, whether they win or lose, he won’t really know until they come back to Earth… or don’t.

There is a certain irony there, considering how they had just spent the last month not knowing if he was dead or alive after he had flown up into space. Now it is his turn.

Pepper stays with him after the others leave, and she informs him that Happy is still alive, although staying in New York — which is a relief— and that Aunt May is not.

“Steve looked for her after you and Peter didn’t come back,” she says, and Tony can’t stop his eyes from darting over to the corner of his hospital room where his nano-suit is laying draped over a chair, the nano-pouch with Peter’s ashes still attached. “It’s hard to find people right now,” Pepper continues, drawing his gaze. “So we could be wrong… but right now we don’t think she is alive.”

Their guess is probably accurate, considering the fact that Aunt May has yet to show up on their doorstep, demanding answers to the whereabouts of her nephew. His eyes drift back over to his nano-suit, and he can’t help feeling a pang of loss at the news of her demise.

He also feels a brief flash of guilty relief at the news. He doesn’t really know if he had been planning on giving her Peter’s ashes, but he knows that — if she were alive — a meeting between the two of them would have been inevitable. He would have had to explain to her face that he had brought Peter up into space to die… and he knows that that conversation would have been painful on both sides.

 _At least they both died_ , he thinks, his eyes still fixed distantly on his bodysuit. If Peter had to die, then it is a good thing May is gone too, and if May is dead, then it is a good thing Peter hadn't survived to have to deal with the death of another one of his relatives.

Beside him, Pepper reaches out to grasp his hand, and he looks over, blinking slightly as he focuses on her. “I brought back— some of his ashes,” he says, by way of explanation, and Pepper nods, her eyes bright.

“We’ll have to think of something to do with them,” she says softly, and he can only dip his chin, his eyes growing slightly damp as he breathes in, and Pepper’s hand tightens on his.

oOo

It only takes a few days for the Avengers to return from their mission.

By then, he is strong enough to walk around mostly unaided by Pepper, and he comes out with her as the ship touches down, his one hand clasped in hers while his other hand lifts to shield his eyes from the wind the engines kick up.

His hand tightens on Pepper’s as they wait and he swallows against the nerves in his stomach, hoping against hope that everyone had made it out of the battle alive. The trip had been too far away for them to keep him updated, but they hadn't sent out an emergency signal upon re-entering the solar system, so either no one is seriously injured or— or they are already dead.

The expression on Thor’s face as he stalks down the ship’s stairs doesn’t really bode well for the overall success of the mission.

Thor’s face remains as dark as a thundercloud as he stomps across the grass and passes him with hardly a word, his axe clutched tight in his hand and his cloak swirling angerly around him. Tony’s eyes sweep over him anxiously, and he turns his gaze back to the ship, his heart beginning to pound a little faster as he waits to learn how many people on it are still alive.

Steve is the next to step out — the man looking worn and tired, but blessedly _alive_ — and Tony can’t stop himself from stepping forward. Pepper follows along after him as he steps up to Steve, his eyes wide and searching, their positions a mirror of when he had returned to Earth.

“What happened?” he bursts out, his eyes flicking over the man in a search for injuries. “Did you find him? Is he dead? Is anyone— Did everyone make it back?”

Steve’s eyes catch on his as he approaches, and he offers him a tired smile that is probably supposed to be reassuring. “No one died,” he says, clearing his throat as his voice comes out rough. “We all made it back.” He swallows and his eyes close briefly before he opens them again. “Thanos is dead.”

Behind him, more Avengers are starting to disembark, and Tony flicks his eyes over them, noting their ragged expressions and lack of enthusiasm over their apparent victory. His eyes jump back to Steve, his heart pounding heavy in his chest as his mind spins, grasping desperately for answers.

Something is wrong, but he doesn’t know what it is.

“What happened?” he asks again, his hand tightening on Pepper’s in anticipation.

It is a voice behind Steve that answers his question, Nebula stepping stiffly out from the ship, her expression tight and drawn.

“Thanos destroyed the stones,” she says flatly, her expression a stone-cold wall. “That is what the second use of the stones was for,” she continues. “They are gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we know what happened back on Earth. As you can tell, it is a difficult situation for everyone. Steve is dealing with his grief as he usually does, which probably isn’t too surprising, but it is difficult to watch from the outside.
> 
> We never get to see how Tony feels about the Avengers going after Thanos in Endgame, but I imagine it would have been distressing. Especially in this universe, where Tony is closer to Steve, and knows more about how his mind is working right now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Avengers deal with the aftermath.

The failure to retrieve the stones from Thanos is a major blow to morale.

He hadn't realised it until now, but he had subconsciously been relying on the idea that they would be able to _fix_ all of this. He had internally been living with the idea that he really didn’t have to _deal_ with everything that had happened— he didn’t have to deal with all the death, and loss, and pain, because they could make it _go away._

But… they can’t.

He can see it effecting the others, he can _feel_ it seeping into the very air of the compound. All of them, in one way or another had been holding out for this last mission… and now they have nothing to hold on to anymore.

The magnitude of that despair is almost paralyzing, and he finds himself tongue-tide and numb the next morning as he makes his way into the common area for breakfast. Pepper comes in with him, and Natasha, Clint, and Rhodey are already there, the group quiet and somber as they sit dejectedly over their food.

Tony flicks his eyes over them as he comes in, and Rhodey gives him a half-hearted wave of acknowledgement as he heads over to the coffee machine. At the counter, Natasha’s eyes track him over her own cup, but Clint doesn’t even twitch as he comes in, the man staring blankly at the edge of his cereal bowl.

Tony swallows uneasily at the empty expression on his face, and he watches Natasha turn and nudge him gently, the man blinking once at her, before shifting and starting to mechanically lift his spoon to his mouth, his eyes remaining unfocused as he eats.

Tony cannot imagine what it must be like for Clint to have come to the compound to find his whole family dead, but… he imagines it is a good thing that Natasha is here with him right now.

The room remains quiet and somber as he heads to the coffee machine, and the sound of the machine as it starts up feels louder than usual as he glances at the near-empty tin of coffee. “We’ll have to order more,” he mutters without thinking, his mind mostly focused on his waiting cup.

“If we can get more,” Rhodey comments, and he pauses, his mind short-circuiting for a moment as he is confronted by the huge secondary problem with what Thanos had done.

Yes, he had killed half the people, and by doing that…

“Can you even buy things?” he muses dazedly, his mind spinning as he thinks over stocks and world economies and labour shortages. He would not be surprised to learn if the entire global economy has ground to a halt because of this. World governments are probably a mess right now, looting is probably rampant.

He cannot even _fathom_ the depth of this tragedy yet. Whole communities have probably been decimated. How many orphaned children are there now? How many old folks left without caregivers? How many chains in the system have been shattered because of this? How are they _ever_ supposed to fix _any of this?_

He blinks out of his spiral as Pepper nudges him gently, and as he looks up at her he notes that Steve has now arrived in the dining room, the man sporting his own pair of bags under his eyes as he scans the room and its occupants. “I think… we’re going to need to have a meeting soon,” he says quietly.

They all assemble in the meeting room and begin to outline their current situation.

“Most of the world governments are in disarray,” Steve says from his position at the front of the table, his back straight and stiff as he talks. Tony flicks his eyes from him to the group, and they all sit and listen in various states of dejection, their eyes dull and tired. It is clear from the onset that the disaster is too big for them to deal with, and even thinking about doing it in the midst of their grief is difficult.

“There is still some functioning infrastructure,” Steve continues, his face still mostly blank as he lists off his report. “From the rudimentary censuses people have been doing, it seems Thanos did what he set out to do… wipe out half of all living life on Earth.”

He clears his throat and taps the console on the table, a holo-screen popping up to display several graphs and statistics. “Our main problem now,” he says, darting his eyes up to them for a moment. “Is sustaining the remaining population. Supply-chains have broken down and people are running out of supplies.”

His mouth twitches downwards, and he brings up another set of statistics. “On top of that,” he continues. “Besides killing half of our population, preliminary evidence seems to show that Thanos wiped out half of _all_ living life on Earth, so plants and animal life as well.”

Tony blinks and chokes, sitting up abruptly in his chair in surprise. “What?” he sputters, his eyes meeting Steve’s in a bewildered look. “ _Why?”_ he demands, his hand pressing down angerly on the table. “How can that _possibly_ be helpful to us? Isn’t his whole thing ‘making more resources available’ or something?”

A month on a ship with Nebula had been long enough for him to become intimately aware with all of Thanos’ ‘logic’ behind his goal to eliminate half of all life in the universe — and while the idea is neurotic enough as it is — he cannot _begin_ to understand why Thanos would then wipe out half of those resources on top of everything else.

“We think _that_ is exclusive to Earth,” Carol speaks up, drawing his gaze to where she sits across from him. Her fingers tap on the table and her mouth presses into a thin line as she flicks her eyes around the room, her shoulders stiff. “When Fury called me, I was off planet to see the destruction on other worlds,” she shifts to meet his gaze. “They didn’t seem to lose their plant or animal life.”

His brow furls at that and he sits back in his chair. “Why us?” he asks, a note of bitterness colouring his voice as his expression drops deeper into a scowl. Not only did Thanos have to kill half their population, but he decided to screw them over _extra_ well, just to top everything off.

“A punishment.”

His head darts up as Nebula speaks up, her voice rough and her eyes downcast, her fist clenched tight on the table. Her eyes flick up and her mouth twists unhappily. “Earth is the site of his most visible defeat,” she continues, her eyes glancing over them each as she speaks. “Loki betrayed him—” Thor twitches at the mention of his brother. “—and not only did he lose the Tesseract, which would have enabled him to go after the stones years ago, but he also lost the Mind Stone, which he had only just acquired.”

Tony swallows dryly at that, a hollow feeling of shock and anger settling in his chest as he processes her words. Somehow, despite everything Thanos had done, this just makes it worse. Earth might very well starve, thanks to him, and he had done it to be vindictive.

His thoughts are distracted from that subject when he sees Nebula swallow almost nervously, her eyes coming to rest on Thor. “I believe that was why he was so… thorough, with the Asgardians as well,” she says softly, her eyes dropping away from his. “He was not… pleased, when Loki failed.”

Thor growls low in his throat at that, but the sound doesn’t seem to be directed at Nebula, instead he glares heavy and hard at the table, his arms folded tightly in front of his chest. “All these years, I thought Loki power-hungry,” he mutters under his breath. “I never questioned that he had attacked Earth only for himself.”

Tony’s lips press together as he watches Thor struggle. The man is not only busy dealing with the recent death of his father, but also the virtual destruction of _all_ his people, and the sudden realisation that his brother Loki (who is also dead) may not have been the villain he had thought he was— and may have been actively trying to thwart the _real_ villain all this time.

He can’t really imagine what it would be like, trying to deal with all of that, and— as he watches Valkyrie keep a careful eye on Thor as he broods— he imagines it is a good thing they have at least _one_ Asgardian still here with them.

Steve calls the meeting back to him after that, and they begin discussing various recovery efforts being put in place, as well as the major problems facing them. “We still have a while until winter,” he says, his mouth pressing down unhappily as he flicks through various holo-screens. “But that is going to be a problem if we aren’t able to get power to people. We’re going to have a lot of secondary-deaths throughout all of this.”

Secondary-deaths are a major issue thanks to the Dusting (as people seem to be calling it). Children without parents, patients without doctors, vehicles without drivers… the list of reasons goes on, but Thanos had killed more than just half of the population with his snap.

And power is one major problem they are going to have to deal with if they want to avoid even _more_ secondary-deaths.

That is when Pepper steps in, and Tony blinks as he looks over to where she sits next to him. “Mining for oil and coal isn’t very feasible right now,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “So we are having difficulty keeping some areas electrified, as well as providing much needed internet and service connections to the population.”

She glances briefly at him, and her mouth eases up slightly as she turns back to the group. “We do have some alternative methods in place though,” she continues, “with hydro and nuclear plants. The problem is mostly labour right now, and…” she glances back at him and smiles. “We have the arc reactor system in place for the tower in New York.”

He blinks at that, and suddenly remembers all the green initiatives he had been putting in place before all this. His arc reactor— of course! He listens in slight awe as Pepper goes on to explain how the Tower had been transformed into a temporary shelter, as well as a home base for many of the emergency organisations trying to deal with the situation.

“If we can get the manpower and resources to install more arc reactor systems,” she concludes. “Then we might be able to get the world power grid back up and running.”

That single goal shines like a bright ray of hope, and Tony lets out a breath, glad to have something positive — something he can actually _do_ — to hold on to.

He can feel the spark settle into the group, their morale raising ever so slightly as they continue to discuss other issues, such as medical care and housing. They don’t have a lot of solutions, and they don’t even have a lot of hope that they will be able to fix things… but they do seem to at least be in agreement to try.

Carol makes it clear that she can’t stay with them though. “I have some friends here that I need to check on,” she says as she looks over the table. “But I already have responsibilities outside of Earth. I’m glad to stay in contact and provide help where I can, but other planets don’t have you guys like Earth does.”

There isn’t really anything they can do to protest that, (and to be honest, Tony is perfectly aware that he has absolutely _no_ idea what kinds of things she must have to deal with out in space. He is honestly still reeling from the fact that she exists at _all_ , and that Fury had never told them about her before.)

He is glad to have her though, if only because his actual survival had hinged solely on her, and it is comforting to know that they can call her in, if they really need to.

Steve nods in acceptance at her, before he breathes in and turns back to them. Tony’s stomach flips uneasily as he watches his face settle back into the solid blankness he had come to recognise from before. Whatever Steve has to say, it is going to be painful, and the man is avoiding it, even as the words come out of his mouth.

“Now that Tony is back…” he says quietly, his eyes flicking around the table. “We should probably think about doing a funeral.”

His face softens a little once the statement is out in the air, but Tony finds a pit opening up in his stomach for an entirely _new_ reason now. He hadn't thought of that. He had been too busy trying to survive in space, and then trying to deal with coming back to Earth, to really think about what should be done for the people who had died.

His mind flashes back to his nanite ball of Peter’s ashes, and he swallows heavily.

“We don’t—” His eyes dart over as Bruce starts talking, the man looking awkward and sad as he looks down at the table. “We don’t really… have anything to bury— not for most of them.”

The mood goes heavy again, and Tony’s lips press together. That is another facet to the horror of what Thanos had done to them. He had killed half of their population… but there is nothing left of them. Besides the little ball of Peter’s ashes, he has _nothing_ left of him.

Others have even less than that, and to lose so much and be left with _nothing_ afterwards… Every culture on Earth has rituals over the burying of the dead. It is something that helps with the mourning process. Laying the dead to rest is important for those left behind— and Thanos had taken that away from all of them.

“I have—” he looks up at the rough voice, and he blinks as he hears Clint speak for the first time since he had gotten back, the man’s eyes focused intently on his clenched fists on the table. “I have… ashes, for— for mine,” he says, his voice strained and soft as he tries to work around his emotions. His eyes dart up and he swallows painfully. “They— they were in the bunker. So. So it— they were still—”

His voice cuts off and he looks away as Natasha reaches out for his hand, her eyes shining as she looks at him. “What if… we chose a spot by the river?” she asks quietly, looking over at the rest of them. “We can bury what we have, and we can make a plaque with all their names.”

It is a relief to have something, _anything_ they can do for their fallen friends, and the others agree to the plan. Soon Steve has JARVIS helping them find a good plot of land by the river, while the others start planning the painful list of names for the plaque.

Steve adds Bucky’s sister to the growing list, and Tony looks over as Pepper shifts next to him, sadness colouring her voice as she looks down. “Can you— can you add my parents too?” she asks softly. “They didn’t make it either.”

His mouth drops open at that, and he finds himself reaching instinctively for her hand, her eyes darting to his as he clasps it tightly. “I didn’t—” he swallows, his mind reeling as the extent of what Thanos had done _keeps growing_. “I didn’t know,” he says, even though the only reason he hadn't known is because Pepper hadn't told him before.

In front of him, Pepper offers him a soft, sad smile, and she shakes her hair away from her face, blinking back a few tears as she looks at him. “It’s okay,” she says quietly, her eyes flicking away as she squeezes his hand. “They— they were old anyways.”

It isn’t really okay, and he doesn’t let go of her hand for the rest of the meeting.

oOo

It is sunny and quiet the day they set out to officially dedicate the memorial for their friends. The site isn’t too far away from the compound, the nearby river setting a calm backdrop as they stand amid the greenery, looking towards the new metal pillar that he had had JARVIS make for them.

It is a simple monument, smooth and somber, with a list of everyone who had died etched in neat rows along the front. It sits before a small grave, and Tony knows that Steve and Thor had spent the previous day digging it out and setting in the metal casket, the box sitting open for them now as they approach.

He has the ball of Peter’s ashes in a small wooden box now, and he clutches it to his chest as he watches Clint approach the small grave, Natasha helping him as he kneels down. The two of them hold four similar looking boxes.

The wind that rushes through the greenery around them does little to muffle Clint’s sobs. Tears slip down his face as he carefully sets the boxes inside the tomb, one each for Laura, Cooper, Lila and Nathanial.

Tony's stomach twists as he watches him, and Natasha doesn’t waste any time in pulling him towards her, her hair swinging down to hide her face as he cries into her shoulder. As he watches, Tony is pretty sure Natasha sheds tears of her own as they sit there, and it takes a moment before they are able to stand up again, Clint breathing deeply and shuttering as they shuffle off to the side and Thor comes forward.

He moves slowly, his expression haggard as he takes his place next to the tomb. He doesn’t have ashes like Clint, in fact, he hardly has anything of the people he has lost, but in his hands, he clutches one of his armguards, the armor etched with silver horns, a memento to his deceased brother.

Tony watches silently as he places it in the grave, the metal clinking dully against the casing, the sound loud in the silence. Thor sits frozen after that, his eyes fixed mutely on the engraving of Loki’s name on the tombstone, the word only one in a long list of people the man had lost. After a few moments, Valkyrie comes forward and lays her hand on his shoulder, the touch seeming to help bring him back, his head turning to her briefly before he stands up and steps back again.

Rocket and Nebula come forward next, the two of them holding a small collection of mementos to their fallen friends. Most significantly, Rocket has a small pot with him, a stick from Groot’s room planted within, the branch dry and dead. Tony watches him set it inside, his small hands brushing over the little stick with a look of absolute sadness in his eyes.

Nebula sets one of Gamora’s daggers in the grave and turns away quickly, her head bowed, and her hands clenched by her side as she stalks away. Rocket takes a moment longer before he too steps back, the two of them continuing to stand together in the rough semi-circle around the grave.

The wind whistles through the grass and Bruce comes forward, his eyes somber and downcast as he slowly kneels to set a small, miniaturized van into the box. The thing had been a gag gift from Scott years ago, and it looks painfully small in Bruce’s hands as he puts it down and stands up. He doesn’t say anything as he moves away, and then suddenly, it is his turn.

He finds himself stepping forward on numb legs, only vaguely aware of Pepper walking beside him as well. His eyes feel wide and empty, and when he swallows his mouth dry is dry, his heart pounding in his chest as he clutches Peter’s box tighter in his arms.

The rushing of the nearby river seems to fill his ears as he steps closer to the grave and watches as Pepper kneels down next to it. She doesn’t have any of her parents’ ashes, but instead she sets a picture of the two of them inside the box, their faces smiling up at them as he moves to kneel down beside her. His breath catches slightly in his chest as he settles his box gently nearby. His fingers brush over the wooden lid, and his eyes grow wet, his throat closing up as he stares down at the little box.

This… this… he never wanted to have to do this. Never, ever, did he want to be here, burying Peter.

He blinks back his tears as Pepper reaches up to clasp his shoulder, and he looks over to see her with her own tears in her eyes, her hand coming up to wipe them away as she breathes in shakily. His heart squeezes, and he reaches forward to grab her hand, wiping his own face as he helps her to her feet and steps back, Rhodey coming up to stand in quiet solidarity by his shoulder.

Tony nods at him and sucks in his own shaky breath, leaning ever so slightly against him as his hand squeezes Pepper’s and he watches Steve step forward. The man’s face is grave and somber as he kneels down by the grave.

He doesn’t have ashes for Bucky either. He hadn't said anything about it, but Tony had heard from Natasha that Bucky’s ashes (along with everyone else who had died in Wakanda), had been scattered and lost in amid the dirt of the forest floor. It is why they don’t have his ashes, and why they had never been able to find Sam after the attack.

Instead of ashes, Steve holds two framed pictures in his hands. The one is a picture of Sam, the man’s face set in an expression of glee as he swoops through the sky on his Falcon wings. The other picture is one of Bucky and his sister Hannah, the two of them sitting smiling next to each other, blue and yellow scarves wrapped around their necks.

Steve remains silent as he sets them inside and sits back, looking down at the grave. As he watches him, Tony finds he can’t read his expression, the man’s face mostly blank and his eyes distant as he stands up and steps back. His movements are smooth and calculated, almost scripted, as he breathes in and looks around the group.

He says a few words after that, but Tony doesn’t hear much of them. There isn’t much to say anyways, not with all of them suffering through the same thing all at once. After Steve is done, Bruce and Thor move forward to settle the lid over the grave, and Tony feels mostly numb as he watches their mementos get closed away.

His eyes remain stubbornly dry as he watches Thor and Bruce begin to shovel dirt back over the box, and it doesn’t take long before the small grave is covered. Thor steps back once they are finished, and they all watch as Bruce takes out a small packet of seeds from his pants pocket.

Seeds are precious now, but they are lucky enough to have some from Bruce’s gardens, and they had all agreed that this is a worthy cause. They might not be able to buy commercial flowers easily anymore, but they can still plant some by their friends’ grave.

“I’ll come back and water these regularly,” Bruce says quietly, almost to himself as he finishes planting the various seeds. “It shouldn’t take long for them to grow.”

He moves back after that, and they slowly start to disperse back to the compound. Inside, Tony knows there is a small spread of food waiting for them, so they can have a chance to sit and process the events of the day a little. It is limited, of course, given the scarcity of resources right now, but he thinks today is a day that calls for a bit of leniency.

He doesn’t head back with the others right away though, because as he turns away with Pepper and Rhodey, he notices Steve still lingering by the grave. His hands are shoved in his pockets as he looks down at the tombstone.

His lips press together at the sight and he glances back at Pepper with a half-flash of a smile. “I’ll catch up with you,” he says quietly, as he slips his hands out from hers. Pepper flicks her eyes from him to Steve, and she nods silently, her mouth pressing up briefly at him before she moves to follow Rhodey back to the compound.

Tony catches sight of Natasha following him with her eyes as she guides Clint back, taking in everything at a glance. Her gaze darts to Steve in a single jump, and he nods briefly at her, accepting the unspoken signal as he shoves his own hands in his pockets and turns to walk back to over Steve.

Steve doesn’t move as he approaches, but he knows he hears him come up to stand next to him. It is hard to sneak up on someone with enhanced senses.

To be honest, he isn’t really sure what to say.

Things like ‘I’m sorry,’ or, ‘It’ll be okay,’ don’t really seem to fit the situation, and besides, he doesn’t really think that will really help Steve. And he wants to help Steve. He can see him hurting, even if the man seems determined to do it quietly, and it feels weird to see him like this, so silent and closed off.

He can still remember, back when Steve had first learned that Hydra had Bucky, and that they had been torturing him for seventy years. He had had a complete and total breakdown in his lab. Back then he had been at a loss for what to do too, mostly relying on things that Pepper, or JARVIS would do for him.

He doesn’t know what he would have done though, if Steve _hadn't_ had a breakdown in his lab, if the man had managed to hide it for long enough to go fall apart in private.

The Steve from years ago had been devastated, and he knows _this_ Steve is the same… but he doesn’t know how to help him.

If Steve would _talk_ about it, then maybe—

He blinks as Steve shifts next to him, his eyes never leaving the tombstone in front of them. “You know,” he says softly, the sound of his voice suddenly giving Tony hope that maybe now the man is willing to open up a bit. Maybe now they can lance the wound a little and let it drain and begin to heal.

Beside him, Steve swallows and starts again. “You know, this is his second empty grave.”

Tony’s blood runs cold at that, because he hadn't actually thought of that before now. But before he can say anything to try to make something out of the inch that Steve has given him, the man shifts again and closes the door on him, his eyes tired and sad, but still far too empty as he turns to look up at him.

“We should get back,” he says quietly, closing off the conversation as his gaze slides away and he turns to start walking back towards the compound.

Tony watches helplessly, his mouth dry and tongue-tied as he stands there. Words rise up in his throat— so many things he wants to say, so much grief he wants to share— but all he can manage is a strangled “Yeah,” sadness twisting around in his stomach as he casts one last glance towards the gleaming metal of the tombstone.

His eyes catch on Bucky’s name, and he looks away again.

oOo

After that, they do their best to try to cope with the mess that Earth is. It is too much, really, but they do their best, all of them gradually shifting to focus on specific issues that best suit them. Carol leaves like she said she would, but remains in contact, giving them regular updates of the situation beyond their solar system. (She doesn’t say much, but she had gone to check on her friends while they had been doing their funeral, and Tony gets the impression the news hadn't been good.)

Steve and Natasha deal most with of the politics of things, negotiating with the remnants of governments and receiving reports from all over the world as humanity struggles to come back from Thanos’ attack.

Bruce coordinates with them for medical care, heading out from the compound at all hours as he works with the limited organisations around them to help keep more secondary-deaths from occurring. “Never thought my days on the run would be useful like this,” he comments as he works with limited supplies and overwhelming need.

Thor is a little harder to mobilise than the others, the man threatening to sink into a depression as he reels from the loss of his family and his people. Valkyrie seems to help though, and more often than not she is able to get him out and use his strength to help with clean up or the delivering of much needed supplies.

Rhodey, Nebula, and Rocket stick to the more manual side of recovery as well, the troop heading out daily on cleanup brigades, the world now having to deal with a surplus of abandoned things and damage from looting. Rocket’s ship is a significant asset, and more than once he and a few of the others had blasted off to help Carol with something in her side of space.

Clint doesn’t go with them very often, but he doesn’t sit at home doing nothing either. Instead he settles in and focuses all his attention on a project of his own. Tony probably shouldn’t be surprised that the man copes with the loss of his family by focusing all his efforts on helping people cope with the same thing.

After the Dusting, there are thousands of children in New York _alone_ that are suddenly without guardians, and Clint dives headfirst into helping the organisations busy trying to provide care and reunite estranged family members in the wake of the attack. Tony doubts things will return to normal any time soon, but there are rudimentary systems being put in place, shelters popping up and small clusters of people trying to pick up the broken pieces of the world around them.

Of course, there are still plenty of _other_ people busy throwing compassion to the wind and either running wild or trying to exploit the situation for their benefit. Infamous “preppers” are a problem too, and there has been several cases where either Thor or Nebula have to stand as security at one of the aid stations, ready to fend off anyone willing to use this disaster as an excuse to hurt others.

It is a frustrating situation, but one that will only get better as they rebuild what they can, so Tony focuses down on what _he_ can do to try to remedy the situation.

That mostly consists of using his arc reactor to try to reignite the electric and communication networks across the globe. Pepper helps him, deftly organising the remnants of Stark Industries as they work on drawing up contracts with nations and finding resources to build what they need.

It is a slow process, but it is at least _something_.

Because of his work with the arc reactor, he spends most of his time in his labs (he is certain Judith would probably disapprove at the behaviour, but to be fair, he doubts most of the rest of the world is doing much better at the moment.)

He comes across his notes on time-travel almost instantly. The file stares at him amid his plans for arc reactor powered cars and his blueprints for his nano-suit.

He stares at it, unable to know what to feel. He had started the file years ago now, back when he had first seen the time-travelers that had come and tipped him and Steve off about Hydra’s presence in SHIELD. There isn’t much in the file, just a few videos of them, and then a few scrawled speculations of what kind of time machine they had used.

He had almost forgotten about this. The others hadn't mentioned it either. He isn’t surprised, he and Steve had the most concrete experience with this, and he doubts the others, or Steve, had really made the connection between the time-travelers and what is happening now.

He had always intended to come back to this file. His other-self had obviously built a time machine, and he had always assumed he would build one too, eventually. Of course, he hadn't really speculated on _why_ he would build a time machine, he had been busy with other things and— and he had thought he still had time.

Their time-traveling selves had been older than them, and he had thought they still had time before they caught up to whatever reason they had needed to come invade their timeline and go after the Infinity Stones.

But he had been wrong. Thanos had come four years earlier than he should have, and he can’t help wondering if his other-self had built the time-machine _years_ ago, so that the other timeline could fight the Titan properly.

Should he have built the time machine before now? He had known about it all along. If he had built it before Thanos had come, then maybe they could have gone and gotten the Infinity Stones for themselves. Maybe they could have fought Thanos that way.

But he hadn't done that, and instead they had been forced to scramble as they tried to fend the Titan off.

And now the stones are gone.

He stares at the time-travel file, and he can’t decide what to do with it. Technically he could still try to build a time machine. They could go back in time too…

But he worries it is too late. If their other selves had been gathering the stones to _fight_ Thanos… then they are too late. And, he knows the time-travelers _must_ have come from _before_ Thanos had used the stones, because they had Scott with them.

Scott had been one of the time-travelers… and he is dead now.

That is what really holds him back from trying to build the thing. Not only would it be a selfish waste of time and resources in a last ditch-effort, but… he doesn’t even know what it will do. They don’t have Scott, and since the other timeline had gotten the stones _before_ all this, he doesn’t know if gathering the stones after the Dusting will even be _helpful_.

Is it even _possible_ to reverse what Thanos had done? Even if they had the stones, he isn’t sure…

And he knows the other timeline hadn't tried to undo anything, because they had been trying to stop Thanos before he had snapped. They had had Scott, so they had time-traveled _before_ this whole disaster had started.

They had had time, and resources, and an Earth that wasn’t tittering on the brink of collapse. He… doesn’t have any of that.

So, he sets aside the time-travel plans. For now at least.

He needs to focus on actual concrete things that will help people right now. Wasting all his time and resources on a last-minute time-travel plan that _might not even work_ isn’t fair to the real people who are suffering right now.

And also, they had _just_ come back from failing to fix things with Thanos after the Dusting, he doesn’t think he or the team can stand getting their hopes up again— only to fail, again. So for now he will hold off. He needs to work on more immediate problems before he starts throwing all his hopes and dreams onto the actions of another timeline.

That decided, he sweeps the offending file away and reaches for the arc reactor car one. If he can refit cars to run on that instead of gas, that will be actually helpful.

oOo

Working helps keep him from thinking too hard about the depth of tragedy his new reality is.

He keeps himself busy – they all do – working to help fix the planet. He doesn’t stay shut away from the others completely though, he tries to come up from the lab regularly enough, if only for Pepper.

He is actually having lunch with her, a few weeks after his arrival back on Earth, when it happens. One moment he is commenting about how lucky they are to have Bruce’s gardens, and the next he is staring in surprise as Clint rushes into the room, the man looking more excited and engaged with the world than he had since Tony had arrived back on Earth.

His eyes land on them and he makes a beeline for the counter, his eyes wide as he breathes rapidly, thanks to his run. “I got—” he sucks in a breath, his hand coming up to wave at them, revealing a phone clutched tight in his grip. “I got a call from one of the orphan organisations,” he gets out finally, coming to lean against the counter as he catches his breath.

Tony flicks his eyes over him, trying to figure out why this is so significant. He knows some of the phonelines are up and running again, and he knows that Clint has been working with some of the children organisations, so he isn’t really sure why _this_ call in particular is so important.

Thankfully, Clint continues. “It’s Cassie,” he says finally, his eyes bright as he stands up straight. “Scott’s daughter. She— she’s still alive. Someone found her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we start dealing with the aftermath. I really wanted to do a funeral, because I feel like that is something they needed to help them deal with everything that had happened. It is rough for them right now, but they are doing their best to try to pick up the pieces. Oddly enough, living in 2020 gave some interesting perspective for writing this.
> 
> Unfortunately, the destruction makes it hard for Tony to justify working on time-travel right now, especially since he is pretty sure it won’t work, since Scott is dead to him.
> 
> But, they found Cassie.
> 
> Also:
> 
>  **Marvel, trying to be all dramatic:** And then, people call it, The Decimation!  
>  **Me, who knows how the internet works and that people wouldn’t come up with a fancy name in the middle of a disaster and would probably be very literal when describing this universal experience:** They call it the Dusting. Because people turned to dust all over the place.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cassie arrives at the compound.

Cassie hadn't exactly been _lost_ , but like plenty of other children after the Dusting, she had been left on her own. Apparently, she had been in her own house when she had lost her mother and stepfather, and then of course, Scott is gone too.

She probably would have been in more trouble if the teenage girl next-door hadn't taken her in during the immediate chaotic aftermath of the Dusting. The girl had lost her parents too, but she was old enough and level-headed enough to keep the two of them alive for a while.

Eventually though, she had taken Cassie to an emergency relief shelter when they had begun to run out of food, and that is where they had stayed for the last few weeks, sitting on a waiting list as volunteers slowly tried to attend to everyone’s needs.

Eventually their case had been looked at, and San Francisco’s version of Clint’s orphan organisation had begun trying to find family to place them with and get them out of the shelter. There is enough infrastructure in place now that the volunteer had been able to find a cousin for the neighbour to stay with—and while Cassie had been welcomed too, they had still wanted to do an independent search for her as well.

Apparently, the worker had been able to find Cassie’s school records in the system, and there—listed under emergency contacts—had been the compound’s number.

To be honest, Tony had completely forgotten Scott had even done that. At the time, back before all this, it had been more amusing than anything else—considering how Cassie lives across the entire country—but now, he and the others sit wide-eyed around the table as they listen to the worker talk to them over speakerphone, the woman sounding harried but kind as she explains the situation.

“Cassie tells me she has a grandmother out of state as well,” she says, the sound of dozens of muffled voices around her attesting to how busy she and her fellow volunteers must be right now. “We haven’t been able to get in contact with her yet though, and we feel it would be safer to have her stay with you, if you are able to support her.”

It isn’t even a question at all.

“Of course we will take her,” Steve says immediately, speaking for them all as he looks down at the phone. “We’ll come get her right away.”

The fact that Cassie is coming to the compound seems to breathe life into all of them, the knowledge that she is alive and more or less safe seems to spark something deep and needed in them as they rush to prepare the place for her.

Even Thor, who had only ever met Cassie once before, seems to brighten a little as they prepare a room for her. He recounts to Valkyrie every story he knows about her as Clint sets off in Quill’s— now Rocket’s—spaceship to pick her up.

Of course, none of them are naïve enough to believe that Cassie will be _fine_ when she comes to them. The poor girl has lost pretty much all her family, and she has been living more or less as a refugee for over a month. She is bound to be traumatised by it.

But that just makes them all the more insistent on getting her as fast as possible. They may not be her family, but they _do_ know her, and they are at least familiar, safe faces.

Once the initial preparations are done, all that remains is to wait for her, and they end up milling around in awkward impatience in the living room as they wait for Clint to come back. Tony finds his leg bouncing incessantly as he sits next to Pepper on the couch, his eyes flicking over the others in the room as he waits and mentally ticks off everything they had gotten ready for her.

They had not put her in any of the Dusted Avengers rooms. Thankfully, when he had built the compound, he had had the foresight to add in several guest rooms. At the time he had half been planning for any additional team members, but over the years, the rooms had been used by various friends and family of the Avengers during their visits here.

Cassie had even stayed in the compound a few times, during playdates with either them or Clint’s family, and while the room isn’t very personalised, it will at least be familiar to her.

To be honest, he would have liked to have gone out and bought a few things for her, just to make the place more welcoming but… well, Thanos had kind of messed up supply-and-demand chains, so there isn’t a lot available to buy right now.

Despite that, he is certain the room will be better than what Cassie has been living with in the shelter. Next to him, Pepper nudges his bouncing knee slightly, giving him a small smile as she reaches up to clasp his hand while they try to wait as patiently as they can.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much longer for JARVIS to announce Clint’s return to the compound, and soon the man is stepping into the room, a small bag in his hand as Cassie trails along next to him. Her face is pale and her hand clasped tightly in his.

Tony’s heart clenches at the sight of her. Before, in all her visits, Cassie had been a bouncing ray of sunshine, the girl bright, and happy, with immeasurable curiosity and excitement. Now she looks small, her skin pale and her hair ragged. It isn’t exactly a rat’s nest, but it is clear that times have been difficult, and she has been on her own more than before.

“There,” Clint tells her quietly as they stop in the threshold of the living room. “Those are the new people I told you about.” He nods towards Nebula, Valkyrie, and Rocket, and Cassie’s eyes flick to them for a moment, her hand tightening slightly on Clint’s as she takes in the new, alien visitors.

“Hi,” she whispers, pressing into Clint’s side as she glances over the trio. “Clint says that you’re from space.”

Her words spark a softening of expressions from all three of the newcomers, even Nebula seeming to watch the girl with something quiet and unreadable in her eyes, her usual hard expression replaced with something more saddened.

“We sure are, kiddo,” Rocket tells her, and Cassie’s gaze jumps to him, her eyes a little wide. It is obvious that she is startled by the presence of a talking raccoon, but she doesn’t burst into a chatter of excited questions, like she would have a few months ago. Instead, she simply gives him a small nod and ducks her head slightly as she flicks her eyes around the rest of the living room, her eyes glancing off all of them in turn as she scans them.

“Is this–” she glances up at Clint and shakes his hand slightly, her voice no more than a whisper, but completely audible in the quiet room. “Is this every—” she swallows and blinks heavily. “Everyone?”

She takes in a quick breath at the end of the question, her eyes glassy and fixed on Clint’s as he nods. “Yes,” he says softly, crouching down slightly as he talks to her, her bag still clutched tightly in his hand. “Everyone is here right now.”

In front of him, Cassie’s throat flexes as she swallows and he answers her unspoken question. Back on the couch, Tony’s heart squeezes in his chest as he watches her. _Is this everyone?_ she asks, and in between the lines she asks if everyone missing from the living room right now is dead.

And they are.

Next to Clint, Cassie lets out a quiet gasp as her eyes brim over and tears slip down her face. Her hand shakes as she raises it to her cheek, unable to wipe away the tears fast enough as muffled sobs burst out of her mouth and her shoulders begin to heave.

Tony’s hand tightens on Pepper’s as Cassie’s tears send a rush of unease through him. His eyes widen and his mind spins as he is suddenly forced to try to figure out what to do with a grieving child. For a lingering second, the entire living room seems to freeze, everyone paralysed in painful indecision as they are faced with an open expression of the tragedy they are living in.

And then Clint moves, the man setting down Cassie’s bag and turning to her with the well-practiced manner of a father. He doesn’t hesitate as he reaches for her and pulls her into his arms, picking her up as she continues to cry into his shoulder, his hand rubbing along her back.

“I know,” he says quietly, his own sadness reflecting in his eyes as he whispers to her. “I know.” His voice is rough, and he doesn’t tell her it will be okay, he doesn’t try to say that, because it isn’t really true—not yet, at least—but he keeps Cassie close to him as he steps farther into the living room.

There is a stir as everyone shuffles around to make space, their worry and concern reflecting in their eyes as Clint sits down on one of the couches, Cassie’s sobs continuing to echo mournfully in the quiet room.

One wave from Clint has Bruce reaching for the throw blanket, and he drapes it over Cassie, cocooning her into a bundle of safety as he continues to rub her back and murmur to her. Most of what he says, Tony can’t hear, but he watches silently, swallowing heavily as Clint runs a hand over the shaking blanket, the vision of what he must have been like as a father to his young children rising clearly in his mind’s eye.

His chest squeezes at the thought of the man’s lost family, and he almost misses Natasha getting up and heading off towards the kitchen. She comes back a moment later with a plastic cup of water, and once Cassie seems to be calming down a little, she hands it to Clint.

He nods his thanks to her and then offers it to Cassie. “There,” he says as she accepts it with trembling hands. Her breath shudder slightly with lingering sobs as she sucks in a breath and tries to settle down enough to drink, her eyes wide and wet as she holds onto the cup with two hands.

Clint watches her drink, and Tony can see there is a shadow of sadness in his eyes, but it is buried somewhat as he focuses down on the girl in his arms. “I know its hard,” he says softly, rubbing her back as she sips, the entire room silent as they listen to him comfort her, his words and Cassie’s sadness reflecting there feelings exactly. “You’ve been so brave,” Clint continues. “I bet it was scary, not knowing what was happening.”

In his lap, Cassie sucks in a breath and nods. Her hand comes up to scrub at her face, and her cheeks are red and splotchy from crying. “I couldn’t find anyone,” she says quietly, her lower lip trembling slightly as she breathes in a few more times, trying not to burst into tears again. “Everything was so loud. And broken. An’ Rosie came an’ found me, but we couldn’t find _her_ parents either.”

Her voice wavers slightly on the last word, and Clint rubs her back again. “You did really good, staying with Rosie,” he says, and Tony is once again grateful that Cassie’s neighbour had been able to take care of her until they had been able to find her. “I’m glad she found you,” Clint says, the man echoing his own thoughts as he looks down at Cassie. “That way we were able to find you too. We were very excited to know you were okay.”

Cassie gives him a shaky nod and finishes the rest of her water. A tired breath leaves her as she slumps and leans heavily against his chest, her breath still hitching every once and a while as she recovers from her crying spell. “I thought I was gonna have to wait until they found Grandma Lang,” she admits, her voice muffled slightly as she curls up and presses her face into his chest. “Except— I didn’t know— maybe she was gone too.”

She sucks in a shaky breath and Clint’s lips press together at the amount of stress Cassie must have been living under for the past month. Around him, Tony can see the other Avengers react similarly, and he watches as Clint pulls Cassie closer, rubbing her back again in an effort to comfort and reassure her. “That must have been scary,” he says quietly, and Cassie only nods into his chest.

Tony flicks his eyes over the two, and he breathes in, releasing some of his pent-up emotions as he squeezes Pepper’s hand. He cannot imagine the amount of fear and pain Cassie has been through since the Dusting. Even just thinking about what it must have been like makes him ache for her, and he wishes that Scott were at least alive, so that she could have _somebody_ left, besides a grandma that may or may not be Dusted as well.

He is glad they found her though, and he is glad that there had at least been a system in place that had managed to get her to them.

“Are you hungry?” Clint asks, and he finds his attention getting pulled back to the two as Cassie nods again against his chest.

“A little,” she says, and Clint offers her a small smile as he stands up, his hand on her back and the edges of the blanket trailing along with him as he takes her over to the kitchen.

“I think we still have some Jell-O,” Tony hears him say, and the room around him seems to let out a collective breath as they successfully navigate the first big hurtle of having Cassie with them. Of course, he knows this will not be the last difficulty, but the atmosphere in the room seems to brighten just a little as Cassie’s immediate grief gets smoothed over and redirected.

Next to him, Pepper lets out a small breath, her eyes sad as she looks towards the kitchen. He is certain none of them are finished processing what had happen—Cassie probably least of all—but as he squeezes Pepper’s hand, he is at least glad that the girl seems able to calm down again and focus on something else too.

 _It’s a good thing Clint is here,_ he thinks, as he listens to the man continue to chat lightly from the kitchen. No doubt, having Cassie over reminds him of his own children, but it is clear that Cassie needs them, and Clint has already proven that he is adept at helping her, his own grief not eclipsing his parenting skills.

 _He probably needs her too,_ he thinks, relaxing back into the couch as Pepper runs a thumb over the back of his hand. He can't ignore the fact that Clint has become more animated and engaged with the world since they had found Cassie. As much as he helps Cassie, he thinks she will help him too.

Before, he had mostly been working on automatic, like the rest of them. And while Natasha had kept a concerned eye on him, it had been clear to them that he was functioning and working mostly because he had found a project to keep himself occupied with after the death of his entire family.

And now here Cassie is. Not only did she know his family too, but she has lost virtually everyone as well.

Of course, neither of their problems will go _away,_ they will still be grieving this for a long time. But, at least now Cassie can have some support, and familiar faces, and _safety_ as she tries to cope with her loss. And now Clint can have something concrete and close by to take care of.

 _Yes,_ he thinks. It is a good thing they had found Cassie.

Out from the kitchen, he can hear Clint making something for her, his voice warmer and more relaxed than it had been since before the Dusting. “After this, I think Bruce wants to give you a doctor check-up,” he tells her. “How’s that?”

Cassie must nod, because the next thing Tony hears is, “He’s green now.”

He blinks in surprise and his eyes flick up towards the kitchen as Clint lets out a startled laugh, the first of its kind since the man had lost everything. “Yes,” he says, as Tony drops his gaze down to see Bruce’s own growing smile. “You’ll have to ask him about that.”

oOo

The compound feels… different, with Cassie in it. Probably part of it has to do with the fact that none of them are her actual _parents_. Clint takes on a lot of the day-to-day responsibilities of taking care of her, but in a sense they all seem to simultaneously adopt her into the compound, and it feels…important, knowing that she is there, and needs to be looked after.

It is easier to plan fun things to do, or to be motivated to practice healthy coping mechanisms with Cassie in the compound, and he can see the phenomenon working on everyone around him as they adapt to suddenly having to take care of a child.

Valkyrie picks up on it instantly, her eyes bright and calculating as she supervises Thor at breakfast a few days later, Cassie sitting next to Natasha with a bowl of cereal in front of her. “Thor,” Valkyrie calls, snapping the man out of the semi-haze he had been sitting in for the last few minutes.

Tony glances over as Thor blinks, his mind still mostly sluggish as he sips at a mug of Bruce’s tea (they had run out of coffee three days ago, and he is still struggling to cope with that, they need to get the global economy up and running _now)_. Thor looks about as out of it as he feels when he looks up, but his own haze is more mental than coffee related.

Valkyrie is undeterred. “You should take Cassie down to the river,” she tells him, and Thor blinks slowly at her, his brain taking a moment to catch up with her suggestion. In front of him, Valkyrie’s expression softens slightly, and she leans forward. “I’m sure she would want to see the plaque we have there,” she says quietly.

Thor’s eyes widen in realisation, and Tony finds himself suddenly much more awake as he glances between him and Cassie. His mind spins as he wonders if anyone had told her about the grave they had made yet. Back by Natasha, Cassie flicks her eyes over them, able to understand that they are talking about something important, but obviously unsure what it is exactly.

On Thor’s part, the man seems to freeze slightly at Valkyrie’s suggestion, his eyes going distant for a second, the man no doubt swarmed by memories of what the plaque is for, and whose names it bears. In front of him, Valkyrie shifts forward and for a second Tony expects her to reach for Thor, or gently shake his shoulder or something to get him out of his funk.

Instead, she steals his glass of water, drawing back without a hint of remorse as Thor blinks back into reality in an instant. His eyes blink and his mouth falls half-open in startled shock, the man sitting silently as he struggles to settle into the present and figure out how to respond to Valkyries unexpected—although effective actions.

And then Cassie giggles, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as her eyes sparkle, the girl thoroughly amused by Valkyrie’s theft. The noise seems to settle Thor even further, and his shoulders relax slightly as Valkyrie sends him her own grin over the edge of his glass. In front of her, he lets out a breath, and Tony watches in shock as his mouth twitches slightly. It isn’t quite a smile, but it is the closest he has gotten to it since coming to Earth, and the man’s face remains soft as he turns to Cassie.

“Would you…” he swallows. “Would you like to come to the river with me?” he asks gently, something rough in his body language melting away as he talks to the girl. “I think there is something there that you would like to see.”

Cassie glances from him to Natasha for a moment before she hastily scoops a few more spoonful’s of cereal into her mouth. “Okay,” she says as she picks up the bowl to drink the last of the milk.

She wipes her mouth with her sleeve and Thor watches her with a gentle, slightly pained expression on his face. Tony doesn’t blame him, since he has no doubt that the trip down to the river will be emotional for the two of them, and Cassie doesn’t exactly know what she is getting into yet.

She leaves amiably with Thor though, hopping down from where she is sitting and reaching automatically for his large hand. “Where are we going?” he hears her ask as Thor begins to lead her out of the room. He lets out a quiet breath as they depart, his eyes dropping down to his tea-that-is-not-coffee for a moment, before he glances up at Valkyrie.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” he asks her, watching as she continues to sip at Thor’s water and stare out towards where the man had left. “The grave could be a shock to her.”

By the counter, Valkyrie casts him a glance, before staring down at the glass in her hand, the look on her face giving him the impression that she wouldn’t mind if it was holding something other than water. “She needs that place, just like the rest of us,” she says quietly, not looking up from her glass. “And Thor…” her mouth presses together for a moment and she abruptly drains the rest of her water in one quick movement. “He needs someone to grieve with,” she says as she finishes and sets the glass down with a definite click, her eyes not quite meeting his as she turns away. “I have a lot more practice avoiding that sort of thing.”

He nods quietly at that, his hand tightening on his mug as he watches Valkyrie retreat out of the room, leaving him and Natasha alone to think over her words. They hit a little too close to home, but thankfully he doesn’t have to think about them for long because Steve slips into the kitchen not long after Valkyrie leaves, the man’s appearance drawing most of his attention. 

He can’t help watching him as Steve gives him a nod and makes his way to the fridge. Faint but noticeable bags sit under his eyes, and there is a slight tightness to his mouth as he opens the fridge and roots through it for a moment before pulling out a slightly wrinkled apple, probably one of the last they have before they contact some local growers again.

He moves on after that, seeming to operate on automatic as he makes himself some stovetop oatmeal, eating the apple almost absentmindedly as he waits for it to heat up. Tony swallows as he watches him, Valkyrie’s words about avoiding grief echoing in his mind as he looks at him. Steve _looks_ mostly okay. Beyond looking a little tired, he doesn’t look that bad…except he already knows that that isn’t really a good indicator of how the man is doing.

He can still remember the very first time Steve had had his birthday in the Tower. It had been pretty early on in their friendship, and he hadn't really known Steve that well yet, but he had still wanted to do _something_ , and for the most part, things had seemed to be going fine. But then, Steve had simply vanished during the fireworks, and he had found him mid-breakdown in his room, because SHIELD/Hydra hadn't bothered to explain to him the new century’s approach to PTSD.

At the time, when he had been busy trying to deal with the sudden crisis, he hadn’t really known what to do, but the incident _had_ made him open his eyes to the fact that things were definitely not as they seemed with Steve all the time. The man is good at putting on a front, which he supposes he must have learned to do as Captain America—if he hadn't already developed that trait before he got the serum. As they had grown closer, and as Steve had settled into the century, he had let down his shield more often but…

Well, old habits die hard, especially when you’re busy trying to deal with the worst tragedy the planet has ever faced.

All of that simmers down to the fact that while he is aware that Steve is probably handling this just as well as the rest of them, he doesn’t really know what to do about it. And, he doesn’t have any convenient indicators to latch on to and try to pull Steve out of his shell, like Valkyrie is able to do with Thor, and like Natasha had been doing with Clint.

Instead, he is left to simply watch as Steve goes through the motions of making breakfast, his brow furling slightly as he opens the cupboard to get out the brown sugar for his oatmeal. “That’s right,” he says thoughtfully, throwing a glance at him and his mug. “We’re out of coffee, aren’t we?”

He lets out an automatic groan at that, and he catches sight of a flicker of a smile on Natasha’s face, the woman seeming to find his pain amusing. He doesn’t really mind though, because Steve’s comment finally opens a line of dialogue between them, and while it may not be talking about anything _important,_ it is at least _talking_ , and he will take what he can get right now.

“Maybe the coffee shortage will get people to cooperate,” he finds himself grumbling into his mug, his eyes on Steve as the man actually smiles too. It is a small, quick thing, but his eyes look a little brighter than they had been when he had first come in this morning, so he is counting that as a win.

“We’ll see,” he says, as he turns to grab his oatmeal. “I think I’m meeting with the President of Brazil today, and I know California and Hawaii have coffee beans too so…” he shrugs and sighs. “But of course then you have the logistics of processing and transport, and then we don’t want to risk big corporations trying to exploit the situation and become any worse than they were _before_ all this…”

His mouth twists and he sighs again, and Tony winces in sympathy, shifting slightly to salute him with his mug. In front of him, Steve reaches for a spoon and begins to eat his oatmeal straight from the pot, his eyes on the clock, and his mind probably already on his upcoming meetings.

Tony flicks his eyes over him. “Gotta say, I’m glad you’re taking over most of the diplomatic talks,” he tells him as he watches him speed-eat. “I doubt I would be patient enough for it.”

By the stove, Steve snorts and shakes his head. “No kidding,” he mumbles as he scoops up another mouthful. His eyes go a little distant for a moment as he stares at his spoon, and Tony watches as his lips purse. His eyes darken slightly as his hand tightens around his spoon, before he shakes his head again and heaves his shoulders, letting out an explosive sigh as he focuses back on eating.

“It’s a mixed bag,” he says after a moment, not looking up as he eats. “Some of the remaining or new world leaders aren’t so bad.”

Of course, some of them _are,_ and his eyes say what he thinks about _that,_ even if he doesn’t elaborate as he finishes off his oatmeal and sets his pot in the sink. His face settles into a look of calm professionalism as he sets his shoulders, suddenly shifting away from the brief glimpse of openness as he mentally prepares himself for his virtual meetings of the day.

Tony finds his stomach twisting uncomfortably as he watches Steve turn to leave, the man’s shoulders squared as though heading off for a mission. He finds he feels…empty, despite his conversation with him. It is clear to him that Steve is mostly coping like the rest of them, focusing on missions instead of himself…but because of that it still feels like there is a sort of wall between them. He doesn’t think it is _personal_ , but it is still _there_ , and he doesn’t think it will leave until Steve actually deals with what had happened.

He doesn’t really know how to get him to _do_ that. Not to mention the fact that he isn’t exactly good at doing that sort of thing himself.

Across from him, Natasha shifts slightly, and he glances at her, noticing how her gaze lingers on the door Steve had left through, a slight crease between her eyebrows as she too picks up on the man’s unspoken problems.

It is a relief to know that he isn’t the only one who notices, and he lets out a quiet sigh over his unfortunately-it’s-not-coffee. Natasha’s gaze flick to him at the sound. “Has he talked to you about it at all?” he asks, darting his eyes up to meet hers for a moment, wondering if maybe she or any of the others had had any luck in the month that he had been trapped in space.

But she shakes her head, her mouth pressing together as her hands clasp tightly in front of her. “Not really,” she says quietly, her eyes jumping back to where Steve had left, before they come back to meet his again. “He _is_ doing a little better now that you’re back though,” she tells him, and he blinks a little in surprise.

“Really?” he says, and she nods, her mouth flicking up at him, even though her eyes stay sad as she watches him.

“It’s good we didn’t lose you too,” she says, her throat flexing as she looks down at her hands. “I was really worried for a while. If we lost you, and Sam, _and_ Bucky…” She shakes her head, and he finds his lips pressing together at the thought, his hands tightening on his mug as he looks at her.

“Well, when you put it that way…” he offers her a lame smile and shrugs as he glances away. When she puts it that way, it is hard to fault Strange too badly for giving up the Time Stone in exchange for his life—even if he still can’t help believing that maybe none of this would have happened if Strange had just run with the stone when he had the chance.

Oblivious to his new, more morbid train of thought, Natasha lets out a breath and sits back, her white hair flipping away from her face as she looks at him. “He’s like when Bucky was still the Asset,” she says, dragging his thoughts away from Strange as he looks at her. “Do you remember? He was getting better, but Steve would just have…quiet days, when he was just… slightly stiff.” She waves a hand. “I don’t know how to explain it, but you could usually tell when something was happening with Bucky, and that Steve was busy trying to handle it.”

His mouth quirks up at her assertion and he sips at his forgotten tea for a moment. His gaze goes distant as he stares down at Natasha’s elbow, thinking back to times before all of this had happened.

“The problem is a bit more obvious this time though,” he says at last, looking up at her.

Across from him, Natasha’s mouth presses up into something that isn’t really a smile and she sighs. “Yeah,” she agrees quietly.

oOo

His conversation with Natasha weighs heavily on his mind, but he doesn’t think there is a lot he can actually do about it now, except continue to try to at least leave an open door for Steve. That is more or less what he had had to do back when he was awkwardly trying to introduce Steve into the modern world of mental health and therapists, and he has known Steve long enough to know that pushing too hard with him won't get him anywhere.

And besides, he is still…he is still dealing with his _own_ stuff too. They all are, the entire planet, mass-grieving at the same time. It is only natural that it will take them all a while to get a grip on things.

He is busy sitting in the kitchen at lunchtime, another mug of not-coffee in his hands and a plate of mostly neglected sandwiches at his elbow, his mind distant and far away as he contemplates collective trauma and how thoroughly Thanos has screwed them all over— when Cassie comes into the kitchen again, Clint following along as she chats about the available lunch options.

“I hope Bruce’s carrots are ready in the garden soon,” she says, as Clint helps her up to sit at the counter and Tony flicks his eyes over her. He is relieved to see that—whatever her morning venture with Thor might have been like—she seems to be okay with it.

“You’ve been helping Bruce with his watering, right?” Clint says as he opens the fridge to look for something for her to eat. After a moment, he settles on making a sandwich as well, and Tony watches Cassie nod, her legs swinging in her chair as she tells Clint about Bruce’s garden and the plants she had been helping with.

“I helped wind down the beans too,” she says. “And tomorrow, Bruce says I can help him water the flowers by the river.” She sobers slightly at that, and she takes in a quick breath as she swings her legs a little harder under the counter, her hands holding tight to the edge to balance herself.

He sees Clint throw a searching glance at her, before he goes back to his sandwich making. “That’s nice,” he says carefully, and Cassie nods, her eyes focused somewhere far off as she swings her legs.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, before blinking and looking up at Clint. “He says the flowers should grow soon.” Clint nods at that, but Cassie looks away from him, and Tony soon finds himself the focus of her gaze as she turns to look at him. Her legs slow as she glances over him, biting her lip and hunching her shoulders in sudden nervousness.

“Um,” she says softly, her eyes flicking up to him before dropping down to the mug in his hand. “Um, Bruce also says that maybe… maybe you could help look for my grandma. He says JARVIS might be able to help.”

He blinks and sits up slightly, Cassie’s eyes flicking up to him as he smiles and lets out a breath. “Yeah,” he says. “Yes, of course. I can have JARVIS help look for her. I’m sure she is worried about you.”

If she is still alive. A fact which he does not mention.

In front of him, Cassie relaxes and nods, her eyes brightening slightly as her legs begin swinging again. “Yeah,” she says simply. “I hope she’s okay.”

His stomach squirms a little at that, and he opens his mouth with the intention of trying to say _something_ comforting, when he is cut off by Cassie looking at him again. Her gaze doesn’t quite meet his eyes as she traces an anxious pattern on the countertop, her legs starting to kick a little erratically as she twists in her seat.

“Um,” she says, much quieter this time, her gaze lowering. “Could you— could you tell JARVIS to look for my dad too?” Her voice is barely above a whisper by the end of the sentence. “He— I know he probably isn’t—but— but—” her eyes jump up to him. “Maybe he got lost or— or maybe he can’t find me now that I’m in New York, an’— and I know he was gonna do some experiments with his Ant-Man suit, and maybe he just got confused when the Dusting happened. He could still— maybe—”

She draws in a tight breath as she chokes off, her eyes wet as she pulls away. Her hands wrap around her middle as she breathes in and out carefully, her hair swinging down in front of her face.

Tony’s mouth is dry by the end of her stuttered sentences, his stomach flipping unpleasantly as he stares at Cassie. In front of him, he knows Clint isn’t much better, the man frozen as he watches the girl with wide eyes, the two of them realising once again how difficult this all must be for her.

 _It’s just like Sam,_ he thinks, because they don’t technically _know_ with him. In reality, they know he is dead, but without seeing it, without _knowing,_ there is always a very very small doubt in the back of their minds that maybe, _maybe_ , he might still be out there, ready to show up again someday.

He looks at Cassie and his heart aches for her. Living like that—knowing her dad is dead, but still _wondering,_ still hopelessly hoping—would be absolutely terrible, and he can hardly even imagine it.

His hand tightens on his mug and he clears his throat, trying to pull up the words he needs to respond. “Of course,” he says finally, his voice rough in his throat. “I’ll have JARVIS keep a look out for him. If he is still here, then we’ll find him.”

Next to him, Cassie nods and lets out a shuddery breath, bringing a hand up to wipe her eyes. “Thanks,” she says quietly. He can only nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we brought Cassie into the compound. Poor girl. She has been through a lot. I don’t think Marvel ever showed her parents in Endgame, so that leaves me free to do whatever I want with them. It is really sad that they’re Dusted, but at least the Avengers were able to take her in. 
> 
> Lots of feels in this chapter! It was interesting looking at the grieving process for a lot of them, and how Cassie fits into that.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony gets a request from Nebula, and he remembers something from Before.

True to his word, he does program JARVIS to keep up a search for Cassie’s grandmother…and for Scott. With the slow recovery of communication lines and with JARVIS’ tracking skills he has hope that they might at least be able to find the grandmother, and for Scott…

Well, he can at least hope that Cassie might be able to find some closure, knowing that if JARVIS can’t find him, then he really must be gone, and she doesn’t have to live waiting for him forever.

To be honest, Cassie is coping with this all a lot better than he had first feared. Judith could probably list off for him a diagnosis of how her young age, mixed with the absolute mass trauma of the entire planet had probably combined into a pseudo-acceptance of the new normal of her life.

Cassie had been through a lot—and no doubt it will continue to affect her for the rest of her life—but she had also come to a relatively stable place now, with people she knows and who care about her. She is finally in a place where she can process her grief…and also in a place where she doesn’t have to deal with it all the time.

In the shelter and in the immediate aftermath, there had been no way of avoiding the terribleness of what had happened to her and to the rest of the world. Every day would have been a constant reminder of what had happened, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she had eventually grown numb to it, simply because the human brain can’t handle that all the time.

Here at least, she can do other things. She has a place to be sad, but she also has a place to simply try to be a kid again…and they now subsequently have a sudden reason to do other things besides butt their heads against the tangled mess the world is now.

After coping through working, and trying to slowly piece the world back together again, having Cassie with them suddenly means that they have to actually focus on things closer to home too. Having Cassie means talking about other things besides shaky world politics. Having Cassie means suddenly having to try to think of different foods to eat— rather than the same three meals over and over again.

Having Cassie means that when Thor sees something interesting and shiny while he is pulling a shift on clean up crew, he brings it back and gives it to her, and they all get to see the brightness in his eyes as she gets excited over it.

Having Cassie means that they have the motivation to set up a movie night, and Nebula and Rocket get to experience some of Earth culture beyond the shattered remains of what Thanos had left behind. (And then he, Rocket, and Nebula get to rant about Quill’s music choices in probably the first lighthearted conversation about the deceased Guardians they have had since the Dusting.)

Having Cassie means that Natasha, Valkyrie, and Nebula somehow telepathically decide that she needs to join them in their training routines, and Tony gets to cope with the fact that she has basically been adopted by three deeply protective but completely deadly Aunts.

Having Cassie means that, once, as he slips into the common living area, he gets to overhear Steve and Cassie as the man prepares breakfast for her. Cassie chats quietly about the flowers she is tending at the gravesite.

“I named a flower after each person on the plaque,” she tells him, and Tony comes to a silent stop, hidden from sight as he listens to the two in the kitchen. Steve hums in response, and Cassie is quiet for a moment before she speaks up softly. “I named a blue one after Bucky,” she says. “Cuz that was his favourite colour.” He hears her shift and draw in a short breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is even quieter than before. “I miss him. And Sam.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air at her admission, and he finds himself barely breathing as he strains his ears, his entire being focused in on the conversation in the kitchen.

At last, he hears Steve shift, and his voice is equally as soft as he answers back. “Me too,” he says, his voice is low and seems to catch slightly in his throat.

And that is all it is, they don't say much else, and Steve doesn’t elaborate but…but it is something, and it is something more than Steve had ever been willing to admit before, so Tony is counting it as a win.

He also very strategically slips back _out_ of the common room and heads down to his lab, deciding that breakfast can probably wait a little while longer.

He is actually around later on, when Cassie brings up Bucky again, except this time, he is sitting in the kitchen, busy contemplating his life choices and the not-coffee in front of him. He glances up briefly as Nebula and Cassie come into the living room, the two seemingly having finished a round of training in the gym.

(To be honest, he hadn't really been expecting Nebula to get on board the interact-with-a-small-child train, and given her own rough exterior, he hadn't really been sure how training-a-small-child-to-fight-without-traumatizing-her would go. But it seems that both Nebula and Natasha are fully on board with prep-this-child-for-life-and- _do-it-completely-opposite-to-how-they-had-been-trained,_ and Valkyrie seems content to offer pointers here and there, so it seems to be going well.)

“What happened to your hand?” Cassie asks as they come into the room, and he sees Nebula glance down at the hand he had repaired with a small frown, as though she had forgotten about the damage from earlier.

“It got burned,” she tells her after a moment, dropping her hand. “It’s fine.”

Next to her, Cassie seems to scan her for a moment, before shrugging and heading over to go look at the few artistic books left on the bookshelf next to the TV. “I think your arms are pretty cool,” she tells her as she run her hand over the spine of National Geographic’s _Destinations of a Lifetime._ She pauses for a moment and glances back at Nebula, chewing on her lip as she flicks her eyes over her. “I had another friend with a metal arm,” she says, before glancing unseeingly back at her book. “He’s gone now.”

Because he is sitting in the kitchen, he is a little far away and doesn’t have a direct line of sight in the living room, but he can still see Nebula pause for a moment at Cassie’s words, the woman probably struggling to mold her next words into something appropriately child-orientated in response. Or maybe she is just struggling to come up with a response in general. She isn’t exactly the best at emotional-based conversation.

Which means she fits right in with the rest of them, but that is neither here nor there.

At last, she shifts slightly and seems to flick her eyes carefully over Cassie as she responds. “I heard his arm was custom made,” she says slowly, relaxing slightly when Cassie offers her a small smile in response.

“Yeah,” she says, turning away from the books and heading over to sit on the couch. “It was pretty cool. He could even take it off if he wanted.” She tilts her head and glances over at the TV. “I wonder if JARVIS could show us some pictures…”

In front of her, Tony watches as Nebula pauses for a moment more, before quietly going over to ease herself down on the other end of the couch next to Cassie.

He does not miss the way her eyes glance down to her own metal hand, or the way that she runs her thumb over his patch job with a thoughtful look in her eyes.

oOo

Nebula seeks him out a few days later, her stance tense and defiant as she stands in front of his work bench, her hands on her hip.

“Your friend with the bionic arm isn’t here anymore,” she says bluntly, and he blinks at her, too stunned by her abrupt statement to be really upset about it. In the resulting silence, Nebula’s mouth purses and she glances away, her jaw clenching.

“You…” She looks up, her eyes flashing with stubbornness as she sets her shoulders and starts again. “You said once that he liked the arm you made, because it made it _his_.”

That said, she stares down at him without relaxing, and he stares back at her, his hands frozen over his work as he tries to figure out what she is trying to say. She obviously wants to say _something_ , she had come down all this way to do so… but because of who she is, she can’t just outright _say_ the thing.

That clues him in that it must be something edging into vulnerable territory, and his eyes drift down to her hands still planted on her hips. His gaze catches on the patch job he had done on her hand back when they had been stuck in the ship.

“Yeah…” he says slowly, an idea dawning. His eyes dart back up to her face and he leans casually against his workbench, hoping he won’t accidentally stumble into any hidden landmines with his next statement. “You know…” he says carefully, waving a hand dismissively. “That reminds me. I should probably take a look at your arm again. I have a lot more tools here than I did back up in space.”

Nebula stares at him for a moment, her hands still on her hips, and for a second he wonders if he had picked up on the wrong implications from her statement, but then she nods in a quick, sharp movement, a defensive glare sitting very thoroughly on her face as she drops her arms and comes closer.

“Yeah,” she says, and her tone would be accusatory if he didn’t know her better.

As it is, all he does is offer her a small smile and sit up, pushing aside his work that suddenly seems much less important. He is a little surprised to see Nebula down in his lab, and he is even _more_ surprised with what she is asking-by-not-asking for, but he isn’t about to question it.

Actually, he can’t help being a little excited for it. It has been a while since he has designed anything just, for fun, and not for ‘saving the world after disaster’.

“Sounds good to me,” he says as he beckons Nebula to comes sit down across from him. “I’ll just have JARVIS scan you so we can see what we are working with.”

Nebula keeps up her slightly suspicious glare as she sits, but, she _does_ sit, and she hardly even reacts as JARVIS scans her and displays the results in a hologram next to him. “Thank you, JARVIS,” he says as he turns to look at the scans…

And then very carefully keeps his face blank as he looks them over. He probably shouldn’t be surprised by the sheer amount of implants Nebula has in her. She is well and truly a cyborg, and she had already alluded rather thoroughly to _how_ she had become this way but…

 _My father replaced a piece of me with a machine every time I failed him,_ she had said, and looking over the scans, he hopes that she had at least had a chance to get a few good punches in when the team had gone up to hunt for Thanos and Thor had cut his head off.

“Well,” he says, so that he isn’t staring in silence at the scans for too long. “It looks like most of it is in good working order.” Which is good, considering how, even with his expertise, he doesn’t really have a lot of experience troubleshooting for cyborgs.

“But…” he glances at her as he points out some surface level plating on the scans. The areas turning red as JARVIS highlights them. “Besides your hand, it looks like you have some wear and tear on a few areas.”

Nebula glances between him and the scans for a moment before she presses her lips together and her damaged hand clenches into a fist on the table. “Yes,” she admits reluctantly, and he imagines admitting to any sort of weakness—even a small one like this—is probably a bigger sort of deal than he can actually understand. “I don’t have the resources I need to repair myself on this planet,” she continues, glancing up with something sharp and challenging in her eyes, as if daring him to try to take advantage of what she had just said.

All he does is nod solemnly though. “Good thing I have some then,” he says to her slow blink of surprise. He flashes her a small smile at that and flicks through the hologram, pulling the damaged pieces away from the main scan to get a closer look at them.

“They don’t look too complicated,” he says as he casts a quick glance up at Nebula to make sure he isn’t completely off his mark with his assessment. “Looks mostly superficial.”

Across from him, Nebula nods, her shoulders still stiff and guarded as she sits, but her eyes surprisingly expressive as she watches him. “Thanos captured me before I escaped and attacked him on Titan,” she explains quietly. “The damage isn’t extensive, but they will need to be replaced.”

He blinks at the knowledge of how long Nebula has been putting off repairing the damage (and he can’t help thinking about her previous claims to him on the ship that she very much didn’t need his help to repair _anything_ ), but he doesn’t say anything about it. He doesn’t doubt that Nebula can repair herself, so either she doesn’t have the parts for it, or she is coming to him for a different reason.

So, he just nods and clicks on the hologram to pull out JARVIS’ breakdown of the material of her implants. “Looks doable to me,” he says as he looks over the familiar metals. “I can have JARVIS 3D print the pieces, just like I would for my Iron Man suits before I started using nanites.”

Nebula doesn’t seem averse to the plan, and he moves on to dissecting the damaged done to her hand, and what plans he has to replace/fix it. “It shouldn’t take too long to get the parts ready,” he says, as they finish up. “Is there anything special you want for them? Any nifty colours you want to try out? Speak now for customization if you want any.” 

To be honest, he isn’t really sure what he is expecting, but he isn’t expecting Nebula to look down, her face shadowed as she runs a thumb over the repairs on her damaged hand again. “You said you will be using your ‘Iron Man’ equipment,” she says, her face stiff as she looks up at him. “So the colours will be gold. And maybe red.”

He opens his mouth to state that he can make the metal any colour she wants— and then he stops, because his brain catches up and he _really_ listens to what she is trying to say. She isn’t _asking_ if the only colours she can have are red and gold, she is telling him very specifically what colours she wants.

But also not admitting it at all.

He flicks his eyes over her, and he imagines ‘sentimentality’ probably isn’t something she is used to being allowed, never mind being able to express it in a safe environment.

He thinks back to what she had said when she had first came in. _You said once that he liked the arm you made, because it made it his,_ and he thinks she might like a blaring red and gold reminder that her body is her own, and not what Thanos did to her.

So he swallows back his original sentence and flicks his hands over the hologram, changing the highlighted parts to reflect her design choice. “Yeah, red and gold works,” he says, giving her a smile. “Obviously they are the best colours anyway. Don’t let Cap tell you any differently.”

Across from him, Nebula’s mouth quirks up ever so slightly, and he relaxes, flicking away the holograms as he begins to wrap up. “I’ll have JARVIS get started on that,” he says with a nod. “It’ll be ready in a few days, and then we can start repairs. I’ll call you when—”

He gets cut off and both he and Nebula blink as his phone buzzes.

He turns and stares at it, because, to be honest, his phone has been rather idle since the Dusting. Periodically various Avengers will call him while they are out on assignment, but his call numbers have dropped _significantly_ since he has come back to Earth and the planet had lost half of its population.

The phone only buzzes once though, instead of vibrating like it would if he had a call, so at first he thinks he has a text, and he reaches for it. Curiosity sparks in his brain as he turns on his phone to see what someone could possibly be trying to text him about.

It isn’t a text.

Instead, a calendar notification stares up at him, an event he must have put in months ago suddenly popping up as a reminder.

 **Event in two hours** , his phone says as he holds it with numb fingers. **Tuxedo fitting—Julia DeRose Bespoke.**

His mouth goes dry, and he can feel Nebula watching at him, but he can’t do anything besides stare blankly at the innocent notification on his phone, the event reminiscent of _Before_. Before Thanos. Before Titan. Before the Dusting.

“Oh,” he says very quietly, his mind spinning as he sets the phone down. “That’s right. I was— I was going to get married.”

All of the sudden the engagement ring on his finger feels more prominent than usual, and he finds his gaze fixating on the metal band. How could he have forgotten? He hasn’t thought of his marriage in so long, but he— he wears his ring everyday. Pepper has her own too, and he sees _her_ everyday too, and— and it isn’t like _they_ had grown apart.

If anything, this all has brought them closer together, but still…

But still.

The marriage had been kind of put on hold. They hadn't even talked about it. It had just happened that way. Everything had been so painful, and chaotic, and _broken_. It makes sense that they had been completely distracted away from their pre-Dusting plans.

But now…

What are they supposed to do now?

His eyes drop to his phone and a thin, near-hysterical laugh builds up in his throat. He traps the sound inside because he thinks if it comes out it would probably sound more like a sob than anything else, and he can’t help thinking about the startling disconnect he feels at remembering the simple cares of his life before the Dusting.

He can remember setting up the appointment for his fitting with Julia. He had done it several months in advance because he hadn't wanted to risk not having a slot, and he can remember putting the event very deliberately in his phone. He hadn't wanted to forget about it. Planning for the wedding had been very important, and he had wanted to be _sure_ that he wouldn’t forget anything.

Not for his own wedding.

And now…

The laugh tries to burst out again as he thinks about trying to go get fitted for a tuxedo now, when a good chunk of the population is struggling to buy new clothes at _all_ , since most of the production chains have broken down.

He _very_ much doubts that Julia’s store is open. In fact, he doesn't even know if Julia is still _alive,_ and that—

“Tony?”

He blinks as Nebula calls his name, and he sucks in a breath, becoming aware of the woman as she glares at him in thinly veiled concern. Her shoulders are stiff as she scans him and tries to figure out what to do with his abrupt spiral into existential crisis.

“Ah,” he says, sucking in another breath and trying to ground himself, blinking a little at her as his hands press down onto the table. “Right, um,” he flicks his eyes around the room to remember what he had been doing, and his gaze land on the sealant patch job on Nebula’s hand. “Right. I’ll let you know when the parts are ready.”

Nebula nods slowly at him. She has a look in her eye that lets him know that she is aware that _something_ else is going on right now, but she seems willing to let him push it aside for the moment. He is a little relieved at that—although he probably shouldn’t be surprised, since addressing what had happened would probably be more emotional investment than Nebula is willing to risk at the moment—and he lets out a breath as he watches her stand up and begin to make her way out of his lab.

He slumps after she leaves, his whole body feeling drained as he runs his hands over his face and presses his palms into his eye sockets. “JARVIS, put my projects away for now,” he says, his voice slightly muffled as he speaks. “I think I’m done for the day.”

JARVIS response affirmatively, although his voice is tinged slightly with concern. He huffs out a breath at the sound and pushes his hand up to run them through his hair in a frustrated gesture.

 _The Dusting sure is a gift that just keeps on giving,_ he thinks bitterly as he lets out a long breath. Every time he thinks he is somehow figuring out how to cope with everything the Titan had done, something small and seemingly insignificant will crop up again and remind him all _over_ again how absolutely terrible and _messed up_ life is now, thanks to him.

His breath turns into a sort of growl, and he pushes himself up from the table, a restless energy buzzing through his body. The sensation isn’t exactly pleasant, and before, when he had used to get like this, he would usually drink and bury himself in some new project to try to shove away whatever it was that had triggered the original emotion in the first place.

He doesn’t do that though—because, you know, he had been working on _healthy coping mechanisms_ —and Judith would probably be proud of him for leaving the lab, instead of locking himself inside.

Well, she would, if she was still alive, which he is _not_ thinking about right now, because he has enough to worry about right now.

He scowls and his fists clench as he exits the labs and works his way up to the living areas of the compound. Thankfully, no one is in the common room as he passes through, and he is left in peace as he makes his way to the hall the splits off towards the suite that he and Pepper share.

All the Avenger suites are close, but still far enough from each other to be private, so he doesn’t have to worry about prying eyes as he lets himself inside. Exhaustion is probably all too clear on his face as he slouches in.

His suite is similar to what he had had in the Tower, he follows the entryway down as it breaks off into a large round living room. This design doesn’t have a bar like his previous rooms had had, but a small kitchen sits nestled comfortably off to the side, should he and Pepper ever feel like staying in, instead of going down to the common room.

He ignores all that though, slipping past the couches and the wide TV screen as he heads over to the master bedroom. He keeps the light off as he ducks inside. He feels too heavy and tired right now to deal with seeing things in detail, and the dim lighting helps calm his mind somewhat as he heads past the master bathroom and flops down on the large bed in the middle of the room.

The mattress and comforter are fluffy and comfortable as they compress under him, and he closes his eyes as he presses his face into the bed. The scent of his and Pepper’s deodorant fills his nose as he takes in a deep breath.

 _Okay,_ he can almost hear Judith say in his head. _What is the next step?_

He huffs out a sigh and rolls onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut. The next step is the hard part.

 _I’m not really good with the whole, talking-about-stuff before-I-self-destruct-shtick_ , he had told Steve once. Yeah, well. He has been working on that.

“JARVIS?” he calls, not opening his eyes. “Where is Pepper right now?”

“Ms. Potts is currently on the phone with the governor of Main,” JARVIS replies quietly. “Shall I notify her that her presence is needed?”

He lets out a sigh, because he doesn’t really want to interrupt Pepper’s meeting, and part of him—the old part that he has spent the last few years trying to unlearn—still doesn’t think that this is _worth_ calling her down for, and he _wants_ to think that he will just be fine by himself…

Except, they have been working on things like _communication_ and _expressing needs,_ and he will just have to trust that Pepper would rather him call her than wallow by himself in their room. 

“Send a text,” he says, as a compromise. “Don’t interrupt the call. And make sure she knows it’s not an emergency. Just, when she’s done, I’ll be here.”

“Of course, Sir,” JARVIS replies, and he is left to sit and wait for Pepper to get the message and finish up with what she is doing.

It doesn’t actually feel like very long before he hears the door to their apartment open, and he can hear the soft footsteps of Pepper as she makes her way through the living room. The door to their room makes a tiny sound as she pushes it open and slips inside.

He doesn’t look up, but he can imagine her eyes as she scans over him curled up in the bed. He hears the sounds of her kicking her shoes off before the mattress dips under him and he feels her scooch up next to him.

“This okay?” she asks quietly as she sets her hand gently onto his shoulder, and he nods silently, shifting back so that his back is pressed up against her chest. Something tight unwinds in his stomach as Pepper’s arms wrap around him and she settles down next to him.

They lay in silence for a while, the sounds of their quiet breaths filling the room as he finds himself slowly relaxing at the feel of Pepper’s warmth against him. Behind him, Pepper shifts, and her nose presses into his shoulder for a moment before she lets out a quiet hum.

“You said it wasn’t an emergency?” she says, opening up the conversation. “Is it just a bad day?”

He sighs and presses back against Pepper again, staring ahead of himself as he thinks. “It wasn’t really that bad of a day,” he admits finally, because it had honestly started out as good as a day post-Dusting could be. “But…” his hand comes up to clasp at Pepper’s around his chest, and he lets out a breath. “I remembered something.”

He runs his thumb over Pepper’s engagement ring and the story about his phone and the fitting reminder tumbles out of his mouth in bits and pieces. Part of him feels silly that such a small thing had managed to rattle him so much, but another part of him is glad to get it off his chest.

Pepper’s hand tightens on his as he finishes and she shifts to rest her chin on his shoulder. “You had a reminder from all the way back then?” she asks, and he lets out a breathy laugh, focusing down on her fingers.

“I didn’t want to forget it,” he says. He had forgotten too many important things with Pepper during their relationship, and this had been one thing he hadn't wanted to risk slipping from mind. “Except,” his lips press together, and he sighs. “I still… I still kinda did. We haven’t really talked about getting married since I came back from space.”

And since half the world population had gotten Dusted in one fell swoop.

Behind him, Pepper ducks her chin to press against his shoulder and he feels her nod. “You’re right,” she says quietly. “Things kind of… got in the way.”

He nods at that, his stomach turning over as he fiddles with Pepper’s hands, his shoulders hunching slightly. “Do you still want to get married though?” he forces himself to ask, because he very much needs a definite answer right now. “Because— because I do, I do still, but—”

Pepper’s arms tighten around him and she somehow pulls him closer, his words cutting off as she hugs him to her. “Yes,” she says simply, the words relieving the knot of tension that had been growing in his chest. “Yes, I do too,” she continues, before her grip loosens and she lets out a breath and leans her forehead against his shoulder. “That hasn’t changed.”

He lets out a breath at that, and a smile manages to grow on his face. “Oh good,” he says, injecting a note of humour into his voice. “Cuz it took me long enough to get my head on straight to ask you, and I’m not about to let Thanos try to mess up the best choice I ever made.”

Pepper lets out a small laugh at that, and he can feel her smile against him, causing him to smile wider as he relaxes even more. Silence falls again between them for a moment as he rubs his thumb over Pepper’s ring, before he finally admits the next part of what he is feeling.

“It feels weird though,” he says quietly, his head ducking slightly. “The idea of getting married right now.”

It feels wrong even admitting that much, but he feels Pepper nod in agreement, her fingers tangling with his as she clasps hands with him. “I was thinking about that too,” she admits, her voice soft next to his ear. “The idea of trying to plan a wedding while we’re all busy trying to just get the planet to _survive_ feels…”

She trails off, but he nods in understanding. “I think Judith would probably say something about burnout, and a person’s lowered cognitive capacity during crisis times,” he says in a lofty tone, and he can feel Pepper smile again as he brings up his therapist. “We’re already dealing with a lot right now,” he continues in a softer voice as he thinks back to some of the things the woman had told him over the years. “It probably wouldn’t be fair to us to try to add planning a wedding on top of that.”

Pepper hums in agreement and her thumb runs over his as she thinks. “Even if it were a small wedding,” she says. “It would still be stressful, considering our limited resources, and…” she trails off for a moment before letting out a quiet breath. “I don’t know, I feel like people aren't ready for something like a wedding. I know something happy like that might help morale or something, but I also think people still need more time to grieve before they will be able to have the emotional capacity to actually have a wholesome wedding.”

He nods, glad that Pepper is expressing something he feels as well. “If we have a wedding now,” he says slowly. “It will still be overshadowed by how much we’ve lost. It has only been about two and a half months, you know, since the Dusting.”

Pepper sighs against him, and he feels her cheek press against his shoulder. “I don’t want to remember our wedding day, and also remember how sad we all still were. I know there will never be a day where we _won’t_ feel the effects of the Dusting but…” he feels her swallow and his hands tighten on hers supportively.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his eyes staring ahead of himself as he thinks. “Even just the guestlist. There was going to be a lot of people we were going to invite that… that aren’t going to be there now.”

His chest squeezes as he thinks about it, and he knows he isn’t prepared yet to have a wedding where his friend’s absences will still be glaringly obvious. There are so many people he had been planning to have there, and now…now they simply _won’t be there._ Bucky, and Sam, and Scott, they won’t be there, and Peter—

He swallows heavily. Peter had been so excited for the wedding. He had been planning on helping the kid get a nice suit, so that he wouldn’t feel out of place, and he can still almost _hear_ Peter as the kid had prattled excitedly about different entrée options and what flavour of cake they were going to have—

His thoughts get pulled away from Peter as Pepper’s hands tighten on his and she presses her face into his shoulder. “Yeah,” she says roughly. “My dad was going to walk me down the aisle, and now…”

His heart spasms in pain for her, and he finds himself rolling over, their foreheads almost touching now as he faces her. “Oh Pep,” he says quietly, and his hand goes to Pepper’s hair as she ducks her head into his chest, her hands coming up to clutch at his shirt.

“I miss them,” she admits, her voice thin and muffled against him, and he knows instinctively that she is fighting back tears. “I miss them, but it feels weird because literally everyone you meet nowadays has lost _someone_ , and their deaths somehow don’t even feel _real_ —”

She cuts off, and he holds her closer, running his hand gently over her hair as she sucks in a shaky breath.

“I know,” he says quietly. “This— all of it, feels like some kind of terrible nightmare, and it feels so surreal trying to figure out how to cope with a loss this big.”

To be honest, he doesn’t really know how the remaining therapists of the world are trying to deal with it, but he thinks, for the most part, that humanity is coping by living in low-level denial. They know what happened, and they know what they lost, but that is all too big to handle, so they try not to think about it too hard, and focus instead on simply trying to survive day-to-day.

The approach works as a coping mechanism, but it does, of course, mean that every once and a while, something swoops in and reminds them all over again just how much they lost, and how _hard_ it will be to keep living like this.

It looks like today, their wedding had been what had done it for both him and Pepper.

Against him, he feels Pepper suck in a fortifying breath, and he relaxes his grip slightly as she leans back. Her eyes look red, but dry, and she lets out a deep sigh as she lets go of some of the overwhelming emotions of their conversation.

“We should still get married at some point though,” she says a little ruefully, and he finds his mouth quirking up ever so slightly as he pulls back to clasp her hands in his.

“Yeah,” he says, running his thumb over her ring and catching her eye. “How about…a year from now? We can always do it earlier, if we feel like the time is right, but…a year from now at least gives us a day to look forward to.”

Across from him, Pepper nods, and he sees a small smile find place on her face. “I like that,” she says softly, her hands tightening on his. “It gives us time, but it won’t be put off indefinitely.”

He smiles at her approval. “Good,” he says, his own smile on his face. “There. See? Genius ideas all over the place.”

Pepper laughs at that, and he finds his smile growing wider. Their conversation doesn’t fix everything. There is still a quiet ache in his chest that lingers as he thinks over all the people they had lost and the reasons _why_ they are postponing their marriage…

But the ache is gentler now, and he thinks it is better for Pepper too. Things hurt a lot right now, but, he has a hope that some day in the future, things will hurt _less,_ and they will be able to feel completely safe and happy on their wedding day.

He thinks Judith would probably be proud of them right now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I was pretty interested in how Nebula got those upgrades that we saw here with in Endgame. Obviously, Tony made them for her, so that is pretty special. 
> 
> And then, I really wanted to have that conversation between Tony and Pepper. The two of them were going to get married back in Infinity War, and I felt like it would be hard for them to do that right now, since everyone is grieving. I'm guessing in Endgame they just had a small private wedding? Anyway, they needed to talk about it though, and Tony did!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Avengers continue piecing things together, and they receive a distress signal.

Heavy conversations with Pepper aside, it is still difficult trying to cope with all the problems of the planet right now. But that simply means that when the wins come, they are celebrated more than ever.

It is about a week after his heart-to-heart with his fiancée, and he is busy in his lab. Schematics sit in front of him as he works on trying to develop arc reactor designs that accommodate for the limited resources they have to work with.

It is an interesting challenge, and something he definitely has to figure out if they are going to be able to get arc reactors to more remote places, but he soon finds himself interrupted by JARVIS. The AI speaks up as an icon flashes on his screen.

“Sir,” he says, as he glances over in curiosity. “The search you put in for Miss Lang’s grandmother has come up with a result.”

He blinks, and his hands still over his own project, his mouth falling open as he stares at JARVIS’s display. “A result?” he repeats, because to be honest, he hadn't really expected his search to come up with anything. With the Dusting and all the chaos afterwards, the odds of finding Cassie’s grandmother hadn't been that great.

But now here JARVIS is with a flashing icon and claims to a result. His mind stutters to a numb halt as he lifts his hand to open it, and it takes several tries at reading the message before he finally manages to comprehend it.

“You really _did_ manage to find her,” he says in shock, staring down at the grainy surveillance footage of a greying woman and the accompanying records of her access to relief services. He can’t really tell from the pictures, but she at least _looks_ relatively healthy, and she is very thoroughly _alive,_ which is more than he had been expecting.

He blinks, and the implications of her survival begin to poke at him. “Can we contact her?” he manages, his mind spinning as his brain jumps back into gear. “Does she have a phone?”

It is honestly hit and miss right now, what with power outages, looting, and short staffing for the service providers, but he knows that the government has been working on putting in programs to get more phonelines up and running, and his own arc reactors have been helping with stabilizing the energy grid. So as long as Cassie’s grandmother either has a house phone, or a phone she has managed to charge…

He watches wide-eyed as JARVIS flashes a number at him. “It appears to be connected Sir,” he says, and he can feel a grin slowly begin to spread across his face.

“JARVIS,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Time to make a call.”

Carolyn Lang lives in Nevada, and has a landline, so it takes a few tries for his initial call to go through. Once he is finally able to call at the right time for her to pick up, he is able to actually talk to her and explain the situation.

Understandably, the woman is a little overwhelmed by the sudden knowledge that she has not, in fact, lost her entire family. She very quickly demands to be allowed to speak to Cassie, her voice thin with shock and disbelief as she asks after the health of her granddaughter.

That leaves him to gather Cassie and the others to explain what had happened. Cassie stares at him from across the kitchen countertop, her eyes wide and her mouth open as she takes in what he is saying.

“She is alive?” she says, her voice small, as though speaking too loud with break the spell and reverse what she had just learned. “She really— she’s really still alive?”

He swallows thickly at that, because it is clear Cassie hadn't really been expecting to see any of her family ever again, and he has to clear his throat as he nods at her, aware of a few of the other Avengers around him blinking back misty eyes. “Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice slightly rough around the edges. “Yeah, she's really alive. She’s okay. We’re going to call her this afternoon.”

Cassie is overjoyed at that and she spends the time before the appointment practically vibrating with excitement. She asks him as many questions as possible about her grandmother and wringing him dry of whatever information he had managed to collect on her during their conversations together.

At last, the time arrives and Cassie settles on the couch in the living room, Clint’s phone in hand. The man himself sits a ways a away, keeping an eye on her, but leaving her to conduct the conversation herself.

For his part, Tony watches from the kitchen, a tablet in hand as he supposedly works on his arc reactor designs, his mind continually attuned to the little girl in the other room.

On the couch, Cassie presses the call button to dial her grandmother…and promptly bursts into tears the moment she picks up.

Tony’s heart pulses in alarm at Cassie’s sudden tears and his tablet gets forgotten as he slips off his stool and comes around the counter to get a better view of the living room. Clint is already responding though, and he watches as the man silently shifts over to sit on the same couch as Cassie. His eyes are soft as he carefully wraps the throw blanket around her and rubs her back gently as she manages to stutter out a few heartfelt phrases to her grandmother.

It looks like Clint has the situation mostly under control, so Tony relaxes slightly and slips back to his seat. He keeps an ear cocked and breathes as he listens to Cassie’s tearful admission as to how much she had missed her grandmother, and what had happened to her since the Dusting.

He supposes he probably should have expected an emotional outburst like this. It is no surprise that Cassie is overwhelmed by her situation, and the combined emotions of suddenly being able to talk to her grandmother, while also suddenly not having to worry she is dead anymore…

Yeah, it probably isn’t a surprise that Cassie is crying.

Her grandmother seems to be just as on the ball as Clint though, because while he can’t hear what she is saying, he can hear the soothing sound of her voice as she speaks to Cassie over the phone. She starts to calm down after a while, her breath hitching slightly as she recovers from her bout of tears and continues the phone call.

He listens as the conversation evolves from there, Cassie continuing to explain what her life like is now (with only a minimal relapse into tears as she explains about Scott’s death), before she begins to ask after her grandmother.

“When can I see you?” she asks finally, near the end of the call. “Are you still in Nevada?”

Carolyn is indeed still all the way across the country, and they end up deciding that things are a little too chaotic to organise a visit for the moment. The roads would be too dangerous for her grandmother to brave at the moment (never mind that gas is near priceless right now.) And Rocket’s ship is currently off world because Rocket needed to go to ‘Nidavellir’ and reclaim a space pod he had left there after Thor had made his axe and transported them to Earth, so they can't use it right now.

As it is, Cassie seems content with regular phone calls, as well as with the decision for her to remain living with the Avengers for now. He knows that it would probably be nice for her to be able to live closer to her grandmother (and part of him _is_ glad that someone of her family is still alive, because then if they had never found her, he at least knows that she wouldn’t have been alone _forever_ ), but the fact remains that she is safer here with them right now, and both she and her grandmother seem to realise that.

“You should come for Christmas though,” he hears her tell Carolyn as the call begins to finish up. “That’s still a long ways away. Maybe the roads will be clear by then.”

He can’t help smiling a little sadly at that. He hadn't really been thinking that far ahead to be honest. Christmas is still six months away, and thinking long-term has sort of taken a back seat since the Dusting… but he does hope that maybe, things will be a little better by then.

If only enough that Cassie can see her grandmother.

oOo

He is glad JARVIS had managed to find Cassie’s grandmother. Like when they had first found the girl herself, the discovery seems to lend an air of optimism to the whole compound. At times, it is easy to get bogged down in the day-to-day difficulties of post-Dusting life, and it is the little things like that that serve to brighten their days and keep life worth living.

Cassie keeps in touch with her grandmother regularly now, and Pepper slips in briefly to help the woman with the legal aspects of taking over Scott’s estate. While she might not be moving to San Francisco at the moment, Scott’s house and his possessions are now in her possession. Tony isn’t exactly sure what will be happening to Cassie’s mother’s house, but he thinks that Pepper might be working that out with her grandmother as well, since, so far, nobody on that side of the family has come forward.

A few days after Cassie’s first call, he gets to complete another thing that makes his heart beat faster with excitement. This time though, the recipient is Nebula.

“JARVIS finished printing the parts for you,” he tells her at lunch that day (a cup of not-coffee in hand once again. He is almost used to it now, the coffee withdrawals a little less painful than they had been before.) “Whenever you’re ready, we can get those in place.”

Nebula nods at that, her eyes brightening just slightly as she reaches into the fridge for whatever food Bruce had managed to source for them recently. Apparently, a rather large, successful farmer’s market has sprung up near the base for one of the medical organisations Bruce is working with. Tony supposes that it is only natural that the growers who had survived the Dusting now need somewhere to sell their surplus of food (since most of their usual buyers are having difficulties right now), and now that it is getting into summer, more and more things are coming into season, so the fridge always has something interesting in it.

It is nice, although some places are still struggling, since Thanos had _helpfully_ wiped out half their food and animals _too_ …but, programmes and systems are slowly being put in place so that people don’t starve, and Tony can rest assured that the compound will be able to feed its super powered residents (even if it can’t quite cough up coffee just yet.)

He himself snacks on some strawberries and then makes himself a sandwich (Bruce had gotten the homemade bread from an Amish stand at the farmers market, that group, at least, seems to be able to handle the sudden break down of most major systems, even if they had been hit by population loss just like everyone else.)

After lunch, he makes his way back to his labs, and he isn’t surprised when – about fifteen minutes later – he finds Nebula at his door. She is wearing her usual defensive scowl as she steps inside and flicks her eyes over the room, and he ducks his chin to bury a smile. 

“You said the parts are ready?” she says as she comes closer, her voice sharp and blunt, as though she can cover up for the rest of her feelings that way.

He knows her too well by now to be put off by her tone, and he nods, pushing away the small project he had pulled out while he waited. “Yup,” he says easily, getting up to fetch a box from another table. He comes back with it and sets it in front of Nebula. “It's all there, if you want to look it over.”

In front of him, Nebula flicks her eyes to him a few times, before easing forward to rifle through the box, her fingers sliding almost reverently over the thin gold metal pieces. “No red,” she comments, flicking her eyes up to him briefly before continuing her examination.

He offers her a small smile. “I thought gold would look best with the colour scheme you already have going,” he says, hoping that she is fine with that decision. She had seemed to want the gold the most out of the two colours, and he had felt that she want that more than the red. “But if you’re really sold on the red, then we can do that too.”

Nebula shakes her head, withdrawing her hand from the box and taking a small step back, her eyes determined as she looks at him. “This is good,” she says, rolling her shoulders. “Let’s get started.”

One thing about Nebula, is she is very pragmatic and straightforward. She doesn’t hesitate as Tony directs her to sit down by the table and take her jacket off so that he can see the parts of her arm that he wants to replace.

He _does_ hesitate however, because this scene reminds him very much of the time when he had been looking over Bucky’s arm when the man had been fresh from Hydra. This time, he isn’t about to be blindsided again by any admissions of well-concealed pain.

“Most of this is superficial,” he says, as he stands in front of Nebula, his tools laid out for him on the table, and the box of parts next to them. “But, will any of this hurt?”

Nebula’s eyes glance over him, and he is reminded of the last time he had fixed her hand, while they had been on the ship. “It won’t hurt,” she tells him, just like she had back on the ship. He nods absentmindedly, not as ready to believe her statement this time, now that he has the proper tools and equipment on hand.

“Uh huh,” he says, folding his arms. “That is a little different then ‘it _can’t_ hurt’, so I’ma tell you that we are not continuing until you turn off whatever pain receptors you’ve got in the way.”

Nebula stares at him, and he holds her gaze until she glances away, her jaw clenching as her hands curling into fists. “I can’t,” she admits finally, her voice quieter than before. Her eyes are hard and defensive as they flick back up to him. “My father didn’t design them that way. They aren’t _meant_ to be turned off.”

His blood runs cold at the implications, and his hands tighten on his arms, Nebula’s eyes burning into his as she waits for his reaction. He supposes he should not be surprised by this. Thanos is the kind of guy who replaces his daughter’s body parts with robotic ones as a punishment, why would he want the process to even have the _possibility_ of being less painful?

He swallows and grits his teeth in anger, before dropping his eyes to meet Nebula’s gaze. “So, we’re going to have to fix that too,” he manages to get out, his voice at least relatively steady. “Not today though, probably. Do painkillers work on you?”

Nebula blinks at him, obviously not anticipating his line of questioning. “Painkillers?”

He nods, quietly hoping that Thanos had left her with enough of a metabolism that Bucky’s pain meds will have an effect on her. If not, then he is going to have to postpone the refitting until he can deal with her pain receptors, because he is absolutely _not_ operating on anyone without some kind of anesthetic.

The long dead scar tissue on his chest itches at the thought and he sucks in a slow, calming breath. Yeah, no. That isn’t happening.

Thankfully, Nebula nods. “Yes,” she says finally, before shifting a little. “I haven’t…tried them for a while.”

He lets out a breath at that, and nods at her. “That’s okay,” he says, relaxing his grip on his arms. “We have some we designed for Steve and Bucky. I’ll get Bruce to make sure we know what we’re doing, but it should work.”

He turns to have JARVIS call Bruce, and Nebula twitches, something like bewilderment in her eyes as she watches him. “It really won't hurt that much,” she says as she flicks her gaze over him. “I’ll be fine.”

He lets out a short breath and shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says unrepentantly. “I’ve dealt with far too many people who brush off their pain. I’m not risking it at this point.”

In front of him, Nebula is silent for a moment, before she nods her head. Her throat flexes as she swallows. “Okay,” she says quietly.

It doesn’t take long for Bruce to get organised and for him to give Nebula his recommended dosage of painkillers. “You should stay awake, but nothing should hurt,” he tells her as he hands her the pills. “Let me know if it does.”

Tony watches as Nebula casts him a small glance, before she accepts the pills and nods once at Bruce. “Alright,” she says, and Tony can’t help the flare of surprise at the level of trust she is putting in them right now.

Bruce leaves after that, and they wait a few minutes for the pills to kick in, before Tony actually gets to work on replacing Nebula’s worn-out casing. He gets started on the metal of her arm first, teasing away the bent and damaged pieces as delicately as possible, before checking over the actual arm struts themselves to make sure they aren’t warped or otherwise causing problems.

Nebula stays still through most of it, and he finds himself falling back into the habit of narrating everything he is doing. It had worked with Bucky, and Nebula doesn’t seem to mind, so he isn’t going to stop.

“Alright, that’s done,” he says, as he slides the last of the gold plating into place and takes a step back. “Now we just gotta do the ones on your face.”

The face is inherently a more intimate location, but Nebula only nods at him, her dark eyes holding nothing but determination as she watches him grab his needle-nose pliers. He tries to work as gently as possible—even though he knows that he really can’t be hurting her—and Nebula holds absolutely still as he begins to ease the damaged plating off her face.

He can’t help noticing as he works, some of the plating that he is _not_ removing, and how the bits of it seem to dig into her face. “Is it uncomfortable for you?” he asks, referencing the creased skin under her eye. “I could see if there is anything I could do about that.”

Up this close, he can see every minute flicker in Nebula’s eyes as she darts his gaze over him. She gives a slight shake of her head. “It doesn’t hurt,” she says, her voice rasping in her throat. “I am used to it.”

His lips press together, and he does _not_ say that those two sentences do not mean the same thing. Instead, he turns his gaze back to the piece of tarnished silver he is working off the top of Nebula’s scalp.

“Do you want any of this, afterwards?” he asks, as he discards the plating into a scrap box. “It is yours after all.”

Nebula’s eyes drop down to the box for a moment, before they flick up to stare pointedly ahead of herself. “They’re not mine,” she says darkly. “They are my _father’s_.” On the table, he sees her newly repaired hand curl into a fist, and he doesn’t say anything as he reaches with his pliers for the replacement segment for her head.

Silence falls for a moment between them, Nebula continuing to stare into the distance, an unreadable expression on her face. He doesn’t really know what she is thinking, but he can imagine. “Well,” he says, breaking the silence. “You could always take the parts and melt them down for scrap. That might be cathartic. I heard it was Thor who got the last blow in before Thanos died.”

In front of them, Nebula huffs out a breath, but stays very still as he leans forward with the replacement piece, the metal slotting in perfectly as he guides it along. “I don’t mind _that,”_ she says, her jaw tightening. “If anything, he should have died slower.” On the table, her hand clenches again and the scowl on her face deepens. “You know, before he died–” her mouth curves up into a sneer. “–he told me that _perhaps,_ he had treated me too harshly.”

She scoffs, and she looks away as he steps back, her eyes stormy and her expression hard. He flicks his eyes over her, and he can’t imagine what she is busy going through. He doesn’t know what he would do if, say, Howard had given him some sort of simple platitude like that before he died…but he does know that that wouldn’t actually _change_ anything.

Apologising once at the end doesn’t _fix_ anything, but it sure does a lot to help make things more confusing. Especially if the person happens to be dead afterwards.

He lets out a breath and shakes his head. “What a dick,” he mutters as he turns for the section of Nebula’s cheekplate. In front of him, Nebula gives a start at his words, before she lets out a stilted laugh.

He blinks at the sound, because he is pretty sure that is the first time he has heard her do that, and when he glances up, Nebula’s eyes are brighter than before. “Yeah,” she rasps, her fist loosening on the table. “He was.”

It doesn’t take long to finish with Nebula’s repairs, and once he is finished, he studiously turns away, letting Nebula examine herself in relative privacy as he cleans up. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her run a gentle hand over the repairs of her arm, something edging on soft in her eyes as she rubs a thumb over her newly repaired hand.

She stands to leave, and he sees her pause for a moment over the pile of discarded plating in the scraps box. He purposely turns away at that, focusing intently on storing and sorting the tools he had used back in his toolboxes.

He waits until she leaves, and when he turns back, the box of scraps is gone.

(JARVIS may or may not quietly report a small fire on the edges of the compound clearing that night, and the box may or may not reappear the next morning, completely empty.)

oOo

A few days later, he is back in his labs, when Rhodey of all people approaches his door. Tony blinks at him a little as JARVIS alerts him to his presence, and he pushes up his safety goggles and steps away from his soldering iron as Rhodey steps in.

“Hey,” he calls, flicking his eyes over his friend. “What’s up? You need something? Did War Machine cop out on you or something?”

Rhodey smiles at that, but it looks a little sad as he shakes his head. “No,” he says as he comes closer, his eyes glancing over him and his work. “No actually,” he stops by his table and leans up against it, looking down at him. “I just wanted to see you.”

Tony blinks at him. “For what?” he asks, and Rhodey huffs out a small breath that isn’t quite a laugh.

“For nothing,” he says, folding his arms. “I wanted to _see you_ , Tony,” he says again, looking at him. “For fun. We haven’t hung out, just to hang, since the Dusting.”

He blinks at him again, and his mouth opens slightly, because what Rhodey is saying is true. It hadn't really been on _purpose_ , but with all the chaos of him returning to Earth, and then all of them scrambling to pick up the pieces Thanos had left, none of them have really left much time in their lives for, well, actually _living._

And here he had thought he had been doing not too bad on that front. “Judith would probably give me the ‘eyebrows of disappointment’ right now,” he mutters under his breath, looking away, and Rhodey lets out a laugh.

“Well, I think she’d have to give them to all of us,” he says, relaxing slightly and flicking his eyes over him again for a moment, before jerking his head over towards the doors of the lab. “Com’on,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “We should do something.” His eyes brighten. “We could play a game of cards, like old times.”

Tony’s mouth quirks up as he is reminded of their college days, and the many, many late-night rounds of competitive card games they had managed to work their way through. “’Course you would suggest that,” he says, throwing a grin at his friend. “Now that it won’t matter if I win all your money off you.”

Rhodey laughs at that. Tony finds that he has missed that sound, his chest lightening slightly as he hears it. Rhodey’s eyes sparkle slightly as he looks at him, and he nods back at his work. “Well?”

His eyes drop back down to his worktable and he presses his lips together. No matter what he knows Judith would say, he can’t help feeling slightly out of place leaving his work. He and the Avengers have been working so hard on trying to patch the planet together, it feels weird stopping for leisure time.

 _Especially,_ his mind tries to argue. _When this is partially your fault._

He gives his head a little shake and pushes the thought away. Regardless of how he feels, he _does_ know what Judith would say, and he knows that she would tell him that it is healthy to take breaks sometimes to enjoy himself.

“Yeah,” he says, making his decision all at once as he pulls the goggles off and looks up at Rhodey. “Let’s do it.”

Rhodey grins at that and lets his arms loosen as he stands. “Good,” he says, looking him over. “I think I’ve still got a deck of cards we can use.”

They end up playing in the common room, the two of them pulled up on stools, their cards spread out on the kitchen counter. They don't actually have any chips to use, so they end up deciding against any betting games for the time being, instead they settle on a game of Crazy-Eights. It is an old favourite of theirs, and Tony finds himself relaxing as they play. Tension he hadn't even known he had been holding loosens from his shoulders as he shuffles through his cards and tries to find something to place down.

“Ooh, what are you playing?”

He blinks and looks up to find Natasha coming into the kitchen, the woman’s eyes lighting up with interest as she comes over. “Crazy-Eights,” Rhodey announces, nodding towards her. “You want in?”

She does, and Rhodey deals her in, but they don’t go long, before Bruce drifts into the kitchen, an empty tea mug in hand. Somehow, Rhodey manages to get _him_ to join in too, and soon all four of them are circled around the table, cards in hand as they do their best to discard them all.

After that Tony begins to wonder if maybe JARVIS is subtly working behind the scenes and subliminally herding people again, because slowly, all the Avengers seem to find themselves in the kitchen. Thor comes next, and it is Bruce that manages to get him to sit down, the entire group pausing for a moment to explain the game and the rules to him.

Thor has never played anything similar, but it doesn’t take long for him to pick it up, and Tony watches as he too, seems to lose some of the lingering stiffness in his shoulders as he plays.

Clint and Cassie show up next, the man apparently originally going to prepare a snack for the girl. It doesn’t take long to bring him into the game, although Cassie determines that she just wants to watch. She seems to enjoy herself though, baby carrots in hand and her eyes bright as she giggles at their play.

After that it isn’t _really_ a surprise that Steve finds his way down into the kitchen, the man’s eyes flicking over them in surprise when he sees them all huddled around the counter. Tony doesn’t really blame him for his surprise—it really _has_ been a long time since they have all just spent time together, outside of missions and briefing meetings—and he finds himself waving the man over.

“Com’on,” he says, his chest feeling lighter than it has in a long time. “There’s room for one more person.”

By the door, Steve seems to hesitate for half-a-second. For a moment Tony worries that he might somehow find an excuse to get himself out of it, but all at once, Steve shoulders seem to relax ever so slightly, and his expression softens.

“What are you playing?” he asks as he comes closer, and Tony blinks as he realises that it has been a while since he has heard the man’s voice talking about anything other than the state of the world.

 _That’s going to have to be fixed,_ he thinks as he watches Clint and Natasha scooch their stools over to let Steve in, and Thor begins his own explanation of the game’s rules—Rhodey jumping in every once and a while to make a few important corrections.

(Steve informs him that the game used to be just called “Eights” when he was younger, and Tony finds himself grinning at the information. It has been a long time since Steve had shared anything from back when he was young.)

Steve gets dealt in, and Tony settles back as he watches the group play. It feels… nice, to do this. He can remember playing games like this before—often on Steve’s birthday actually—and he will admit that he had missed this.

Not only had the Dusting taken up most of their time, but before this, the group had been more scattered, thanks to the Accords. Of course, they had still spent time together, but it hadn't been as constant, since half the team had been more or less retired.

Before the Dusting, people would always be in and out of the compound. Clint would be on his farm, and Steve and Bucky would be doing speeches somewhere, or be back visiting Wakanda, and Tony had been more often than not arguing policy with the UN and Ross and heading back and forth to his Tower in New York.

It hadn't been a bad life, not in comparison to what they had lost after the Dusting, but he will admit that he had missed _this_ part of it.

And on a different note, it is simply nice to have something _fun_ to do after the Dusting. They spend all their time trying to save the world, but it is nice sometimes to _not_ do that.

He might have to think about making a slightly larger set of cards though, Bruce is finding that his larger Hulk-stature makes fanning out his cards more difficult. (And, he thinks he could justify using resources to make that. Probably. It is important to have things for _fun_ too. Bread and roses and all that.)

Cassie ends up helping Bruce hold his cards, and Tony has just enough time to wonder if they will have to make up another game (should Nebula, Valkyrie, and Rocket decide to drop in), when JARVIS speaks up, cutting into the game.

“Captain Rogers,” he says, sounding slightly regretful as he interrupts them. “You have an urgent call from the Pentagon.”

Steve’s brow furls at the unexpected call, and Tony can’t help sighing a little as real life interrupts them. “I’ll take it in the meeting room,” he tells JARVIS, before setting down his cards and offering them all an apologetic smile. “I might have to duck out, I don’t know how long this will take.”

They can, of course, have no objections to that, but Tony can’t help feeling a little mournful as he watches Steve slip out of the room. The man’s shoulders are already stiffening as he settles into the ‘Captain Rogers’ that the Pentagon wants to speak with.

Looks like saving the world doesn’t really like to be put on hold.

Still, the game continues on, and it is still enjoyable, even with Steve’s exit. His call isn’t long though, and Tony is actually about two cards away from winning the game, when Steve comes back in.

“Perfect timing,” he says, his eyes still mostly on his cards as Steve comes in. “I’ve almost–” and then he looks up, and his words die as he notices how pale Steve looks suddenly, the man’s eyes wide as he looks over at them. “Steve?”

The others look up at his words, the mood turning to concerned as they watch as Steve’s eyes seem to catch on Thor for a minute, before he glances up at the ceiling. “JARVIS, are Valkyrie and the others coming?” he asks, his hands running along his pants as JARVIS confirms that the rest of the compound residents have been called.

Tony’s brows furl at that, and his cards are forgotten as he watches as everyone—even Pepper—file into the room, all of them sporting their own expression of vague confusion as they look over at Steve.

“Okay,” he says, once Rocket has situated himself on the couch facing him. “Alright, JARVIS, can you playback the transmission the Pentagon sent?”

“Yes, Captain,” JARVIS replies, and Steve turns to look at them all.

“The Pentagon received this call just recently,” he says, his eyes catching briefly on Valkyrie and Thor. “It's from a ship in space.”

Before Tony can begin to spiral off into thoughts of more alien invasions, JARVIS plays the clip for them, the words loud in the intense silence of the room.

“ _This is an escape pod of the spaceship, the Statesman,”_ a male voice announces through the room, and Tony hears Thor’s breath catch, the man’s face suddenly pale as he listens. “ _Repeat,”_ the recording continues. _“This is an Asgardian escape pod, requesting clearance.”_

 _Well,_ he thinks, all thoughts of his card game wiped from his mind as shock vibrates through the room. _This is certainly not how I was expecting today to go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of positive things for this chapter. I had Cassie’s grandmother survive, because then I could argue that that is who is taking care of her before Scott finds her in Endgame. Also it is good for her to talk with her grandmother. 
> 
> And then we had Tony helping to repair Nebula (and insisting on painkillers) and talking about how terrible Thanos is. I felt she didn’t get much catharsis around him, so that was nice.
> 
> And finally the card game! It was nice for all the Avengers to hang out, before we got that unexpected call…


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Asgardians come to Earth.

“Play it again,” Thor says roughly as the recording finishes, his voice strained and his face tight. “Play— play it again.

JARVIS complies, and they all sit in stunned silence as they once again listen to the transmission. Thor and Valkyrie sit in shock as they hear the words play out.

“They’re still alive,” Thor murmurs, his eyes bright with tears and his breath shaky. “They— some of the pods made it out. Some of them survived.”

Tony sits and flicks his eyes between Thor, Valkyrie, and Steve, trying to take in the implications of the recording. He remembers now that Valkyrie had mentioned escape pods when she had first arrived on Earth (but that feels like feels like ages ago now, and not just under three months, like it actually is.)

At the time, Valkyrie had seemed uncertain as to whether any of the pods had survived—which he supposes is understandable, considering who had been attacking them—but thanks to this transmission, it is now blindingly obvious that some of them _had_ survived.

Looking at Thor, and noting his pale skin, and the bags under his eyes, he can’t help thinking that that is a good thing.

“Some of Earth’s satellites are still working,” Steve cuts in, drawing their concentration. “And the Pentagon says that the ships are in our solar system, but they haven’t yet reached Earth. They wanted to check with us first, to see if the transmission is real, before they responded.”

Thor seems to jerk slightly at his words, his eyes darting up to Steve with an intense look on his face. “It’s real,” he says, standing up. His hand shakes slightly as he runs it through his hair—the ends longer now after his few months on Earth—and his eyes take on a desperate sheen. “It’s real. Did they—” he takes an aborted step towards Steve. “Did they say anything else? Do you know who—?”

Steve shakes his head, and Thor deflates slightly. “That’s all we have received so far,” he says, flicking his eyes over Thor and Valkyrie, the woman sitting intent and quiet as she listens to them. “The Pentagon hasn’t responded yet, but they are more or less looking for direction from us.”

He swallows and glances over the whole group, his hand rubbing against his pants as he squares his shoulders. “It’s a good thing that the escape pods survived,” he says, a serious note in his eyes. “But now we have to figure out what to do with them. They can’t go back to Asgard, so if they want to settle on Earth, we’re going to have to negotiate that.”

 _Ah,_ Tony thinks, and he can suddenly see their future sitting ahead of them. Steve is right that the Asgardian refugees can’t go back to Asgard—that had been destroyed—and since they had come to Earth, it stands to reason that the group probably intends to make it their new home.

He lets out a breath and flicks his eyes to Steve. He and Natasha had been handling most of the political negotiations, and he doesn’t envy them for these approaching ones. Immigration had generally been a hot topic on Earth _before_ the Dusting, and now that many countries can actually justifiably claim they can barely support their own people…

Yeah, it is probably going to be a hard sell…but one glance at Thor’s determined face and he knows that Steve and Natasha—and probably the rest of them—are going to be the ones to do it.

Hopefully this goes well.

oOo

It doesn’t take long for the Asgardian escape pods to reach Earth. It only takes about a few days for them to reach orbiting range, but in that time, Steve has been busy. Both he and Natasha are practically constantly on call as they work to organise first contact between Earth and the refugees.

Well, first contact after a fashion. The Asgardians are not invited down to Earth just yet. Instead, they stay in their ships, and Steve acts as the go-between for the negotiations. Ultimately, the two groups will have to hold their own negotiations _together,_ but for now, each simply needs to figure out what the other _wants_.

Tony and the rest of the Avengers sit in with Steve when he contacts the Asgardian escape pods for the first time. It is probably a good thing that this isn’t the official negotiations yet, because if they were, Thor would not have been able to contain himself.

It starts when Steve sends off his first transmission. “This is Captain Steven Rogers, Earth Avenger, contacting the Statesman escape pod, please respond.”

It doesn’t take long to get a reply. “ _Well met, Captain Steven Rogers,”_ comes a woman’s voice this time, and next to him, Tony feels Thor stiffen, the man sucking in a sharp breath as he listens, his eyes wide.

“Mother,” he gasps, and the woman confirms his words a second later.

“ _This is Frigga Freyrdottir,_ ” she says, as Thor sits pale and stalk still next to a frozen Valkyrie. “ _Queen of Asgard.”_

Tony's eyes widen, and Thor slumps slightly in his chair, his face white with shock as Valkyrie lifts a hand to her mouth, her eyes fixed unmoving on the computer screen in front of Steve. “She did survive,” he hears her whisper. “Her pod made it out.”

By the computer screen, Steve pauses and glances back at them. Tony can see him recalculating the day’s objectives, a look of sympathy washing over his face for a moment before he turns back to his communication.

“Queen Frigga,” he says. “I would like to discuss with you your intentions towards Earth but…” He trails off and glances back at Thor again before looking back at the computer. “First, I think there is someone who would like to talk to you.”

He steps back after that, and gestures for Thor to come forward. Thor’s eyes are dazed as he steps forward. He seems to move in a haze as he stumbles towards the computer terminal, hands shaking as he sits down. “Mother,” he gasps out again, thinly veiled tears in his voice. “Mother, you’re alive.”

Tony swallows at the emotion in Thor’s voice, and he turns his head away, trying to give the man some semblance of privacy as he speaks to his mother for the first time since Thanos had come to kill his brother and wipe out his entire race. He can hear the joy in Frigga’s voice as she responds, but he finds his mind distracted away from the conversation as his eyes catch on Steve. The man comes to stand next to him as they wait, his eyes fixed on Thor and the computer terminal.

There is something…something almost longing in his eyes as he watches Thor, and Tony finds his mouth going dry as he looks at Steve. He swallows, and he has to pull his gaze away. The look on Steve’s face is almost too deep to deal with right now, and his thoughts turn back to Thor in an effort to distract himself.

“How many?” he hears Thor ask, the man leaning in towards the terminal, his voice rough in his throat as he speaks. “How many are with you? How many survived?”

There is a moment of staticky silence on Frigga’s end, before the queen finally responds. “Not many,” she says quietly, Thor drawing back as she answers. “We estimate— we think around a thousand people. Give or take.”

Thor’s mouth falls open at that, and Tony sees Valkyrie’s face stiffen into a stone mask, her hands clenched into tight fists by her side as the two of them come to terms with her words.

 _One thousand,_ he thinks, his stomach feeling hollow as he stares at Thor. One thousand people. Their entire society, their entire population, reduced to a village-worth of people. Even with the population loss on Earth, he can’t really imagine that. Thor’s entire people— _all of them_ —sit in a few ships orbiting Earth, and there are only a thousand of them left.

 _It’ll make settling them on Earth easier,_ his mind thinks, and he immediately feels a little guilty for the thought, even though it is fundamentally true. Earth might be wary of absorbing too many new mouths to feed, but a thousand people—he doubts New York would even _notice_ that many new people.

By the computer terminal, Thor runs a hand over his face and sucks in a breath, the man’s hand shaking as he swallows. “That is more than we had before now,” he hears him mutter lowly to himself, and his stomach clenches as he is reminded all over again that before now, Thor and Valkyrie had been living as the de facto last members of their entire race.

In front of him, Thor sets his shoulders, a determined expression crossing his face as he focuses on the computer. “Okay,” he says, his hands tightening on the desk in front of him. “Steve has been telling me of some of the procedures down here on Earth. Will our people be trying to settle here?”

To be honest, the group probably doesn’t have much choice, unless they want to negotiate for supplies and go off to find some other uninhabited planet somewhere, but that doesn't seem to be the plan, because Frigga replies almost immediately. “Yes,” she says, her voice hard with determination. “We are no strangers to this place. I can think of no place fitter for the remnants of our people.” 

Thor nods at that, and Tony sees Steve step forward again, the man getting ready to start discussing the needs of the Asgardians, and the logistics of them settling on Earth. Looking between Thor and Valkyrie, and seeing the painful budding hope in their eyes, Tony can only hope that Earth’s leaders also see Earth as a fit home for the refugee aliens.

oOo

Steve begins the task of negotiating the settlement of the Asgardians refugees, and while Tony doesn’t play a major role in it, he does pick up on a few of the details. For the most part, the Asgardian’s request is simple; to be allowed to live in peace on Earth.

“They do have a few things to offer,” Steve explains to him over lunch a few days into the negotiations. “So that at least helps things a little.”

As Tony understands it, pros of accepting the Asgardian refugees boils down to: they are willing to more or less live by Earth rules, there aren’t too many of them, they can help replace labour lost due to the Dusting, and they can provide protection should another attack occur.

Cons to accepting the Asgardians of course have to do with the difficulties of providing for and settling a relatively large group of people, as well as the potential difficulties that could arise from trying to integrate the group of aliens into a population only recently traumatised by an outside attack.

The prospect of untangling all that seems a little daunting, but personally, Tony imagines that the Asgardians’ strength and the potential protection they can offer to wherever they settle will eventually win out.

Earth may be wary of strangers, but strangers that can maybe help fight off another wannabe Thanos—should one occur? Yeah, he has a feeling people will jump at that.

As it is, the UN finally approves the venture in the first place, which is a good start, but things slow down briefly as Steve has to negotiate for provisions for the ships so that they can hang around while Earth continues to debate their fate.

Thankfully that doesn’t take _too_ long—Steve and Natasha are very good at arguing the refugee part of the Asgardians’ plight. Many Earth leaders might be reluctant to shell out aid to aliens, but there _are_ protocols and procedures in place when it comes to refugees…this is just the first time any of that has applied to anyone _not_ of Earth.

In the end, the UN agrees to officially grant to Asgardians refugee status, but then the argument becomes trying to decide where they will live. Never mind the fact that many countries simply do not want to be accepting refugees right now, accepting _alien_ refugees adds a whole new layer of complications to everything.

The UN basically throws the question out to whoever wants to take it, and Tony hardly sees anything of Steve and Natasha as the two of them act as go-betweens for the Asgardians and Earth. The negotiations themselves take a full month, and Thor remains antsy and anxious for most of it.

“What if no country wants to accept them?” he overhears the man asking Valkyrie, while he is busy fetching some (more) not-coffee. The two Asgardians are sitting in the living room with Rocket, and when he looks up, Thor is sitting hunched over on the couch, his hands clasped in front of him as he stares down at the floor.

Even with the dejected posture, he still somehow looks better than he did immediately after the Dusting. Back then, Thor had been somewhat checked-out of reality, the man only resurfacing when anger won the battle against apathy. He had been slowly improving as time went on, but now, new emotions are making themselves known. Thor might be anxious and worried, but he is _engaged_ , and he is focusing on the actual present, which is a marked improvement from before.

Next to him, Valkyrie shifts and shrugs, the woman putting on a show of being unconcerned. “If they were going to say no, then they would have already,” she says as she crosses one leg over the other. “It seems to me they simply enjoy debating. Something which they seem to share with Asgardian councils.”

In a chair a few feet away, Rocket scoffs, the raccoon not looking up from the tablet he is fiddling with. “Look man,” he says, rolling his eyes. “If Earth’s citizens can deal with _me_ without too much trouble, I doubt your people will hold them up too much—especially since they have already been here before or something.”

Thor cracks a smile at that, and Tony sees a look of satisfaction flash over Valkyrie’s face. Say what she will about her own emotional capacities, she isn’t completely ignorant of the process, and she obviously holds some concern for Thor (Rocket too, he thinks, even if the raccoon won’t easily admit it.)

It is good though, that they are here, because Tony is pretty sure Thor would be doing much worse if Valkyrie especially hadn't been there for the first few weeks after the Dusting. As it is, Thor sits up and rolls his shoulders, the man gaining some optimism after the brief speeches from his friends.

“You’re right,” he says, standing to head out of the living room. “I think I will go see how Steve is doing.”

Apparently Steve is actually making progress, because he pops out of negotiations briefly a few hours later to scarf down some supper, and he fills him in on some of the details. “Norway has put in a bid for them,” he says as he stands by the counter, a container of leftovers in his hands. “Now we are just hammering out some of the finer details.”

Tony (who is busy sitting down and eating food off a plate like a civilized human being) nods at that, and scans his eyes over Steve. Things still feel a little weird between them. He isn’t really sure if Steve is aware of it, and he isn’t even sure if it is _intentional_ or not, but he can’t help feeling like he and Steve don’t spend as much _time_ together anymore.

It probably isn’t a fair assessment, considering how the Accords had kept them revolving in different spheres for the last two years anyways, but…even then, things had felt…different then. Back then, it had always felt like he _could_ talk to Steve, if he wanted to.

Now though…it feels like there is never any _time_ , despite the fact that he and Steve are back to sharing living quarters. Steve is always busy with something, the man practically in constant negotiations with Earth leaders or civilian organisations.

Of course, Tony knows that he is partially at fault too. _He_ is busy _too_ —although he has been working on spending a little more time with Rhodey, now that he has recognised that he is lacking in that department. He also spends his off-time with Pepper, and he conscientiously tries not to bury himself in his lab like he would have a few years ago.

But somehow things feel _different_ with Pepper and Rhodey. Somehow, with those two, he doesn't have any buried doubts that they would actually rather not be seeing him. He knows he really shouldn’t be feeling that way with Steve—not after everything they have been through—and he has enough experience with therapy and mental health to know that Steve’s behaviour is most likely just a trauma response…

But the intellectual knowledge doesn’t help the tiny seed of guilt that tries to tell him that Steve resents him for not stopping Thanos.

He _knows_ that that isn’t the case—mostly because he hasn’t really _told_ Steve about what had happened between him, Strange and Thanos back on Titan, but…

But he really wishes he could just talk to Steve. He _knows_ they are both mourning Bucky. He _knows_ Steve’s current method of living is probably edging on unhealthy…but then again, are _any_ of them really healthy at this point? _Everyone_ is mourning right now. The Dusting had only happened _three months_ ago. Is it really fair to expect Steve to be behaving any different right now?

He isn’t really sure, but he does know that Steve is probably self-aware of his own behaviour right now, at least, to a certain extent.

Bucky had predicted years ago that Steve would cope with his grief by finding himself a mission to focus on, and so far, that has held out. Of course, fixing the Earth is a pretty _large_ undertaking, and Steve isn’t stupid. He has got to know that constantly working all the time won’t actually fix the fact that he is hurting because of who—and how _much_ —they had lost.

But Tony doesn't really know how to approach any of that, and obviously Steve doesn’t really want to do that right now.

“Tony?”

He blinks, and he realises that Steve is staring at him, the man paused in his eating as he watches him with a faint look of concern in his eyes. Right, he had been listening to Steve before he had gotten side-tracked. Hopefully he hadn't missed too much.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head and giving Steve what he hopes is a rueful smile. “Got lost in thought there for a second. Did you say where in Norway they are thinking of settling the Asgardians?”

Steve scans him a second longer, before shrugging slightly and scooping up the last mouthful of food into his mouth. “A town called Tønsberg,” he says as he turns to put his container in the sink. “With their population loss, the Asgardians should be able to fill in some cracks in the community.”

Tony nods silently at that, and watches as Steve turns away to head out of the kitchen, the man already intent on continuing his negotiations.

oOo

It takes another two weeks of negotiations for all the details to be finalised and for the Asgardians to get the go ahead to start settling in Tønsberg.

First though, the Avengers have a visitor.

 _Maybe I should build a spaceship landing pad,_ he thinks as he squints up into the sky. He and the rest of the Avengers are standing in the green space outside the compound and waiting with Thor as the large bulk of an Asgardian escape pod descends from the sky.

It is about the size of Quill’s ship, but less elegant. It is obvious from the outside the ship’s main purpose is to transport as many people as possible. Instead of wings like Quill’s ship had had, the ship is more like a boxy bus, the four landing struts that extend as it lands making it look a little like a giant bug touching down.

The descent of the ship kicks up plenty of wind, and the dust stings his eyes as he squints towards the ship. Up near the front of the group, Thor hardly seems to notice the discomfort, the man already making his way towards the ship, even before the hangar begins to lower.

That isn’t really surprising though, because at the mouth of the hangar, Tony can make out the shape of a woman standing just as impatiently. Unlike Thor, Frigga is still dressed in her Asgardian clothes, and her robe flies out behind her as the hangar finally lowers and she darts out to meet her son.

They meet in the grass in front of the ship, and Thor’s arms envelope the smaller woman. His head bows as he curls around her, his shoulders heaving.

The rest of the Avengers, even Valkyrie, stay back as the family reunites. Tony can’t hear the two, but as Thor loosens his grip on his mother slightly, he can see their mouths moving, Frigga’s hands coming up to cup his face as he ducks his head, leaning into her.

Something twinges in his chest at the scene, and he looks away, a slurry of conflicted feelings swirling around inside of him. He isn’t exactly sure what he is feeling, but something aches inside of him as he watches Thor reunite with his mother.

As he shifts, his eyes catch on Steve, the man standing a few feet away with the same look of pained longing from a month or so ago, and suddenly, he understands what it is. He understands what it is they are both feeling.

It is loss, all over again. He is happy for Thor, of course, that he had been able to reunite with his mother and his people, and that some of the names he had etched into their memorial stone are no longer relevant, but…

But most of them won’t be able to get a reunion like that.

The rest of the people they lost will not be coming out of the sky and sweeping them into long overdue hugs anytime soon. The people they had lost are _gone._ Sam, Scott, Bucky, _Peter,_ they are just…gone, and they don’t even get to have the painful hope that maybe one day they will come back.

It hurts thinking about, so Tony pushes it away, his throat flexing as he swallows and sets his shoulders. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. All he wants to do right now is be happy for Thor, because at least he doesn’t have to live as one of the last of his people anymore.

 _Also,_ he thinks, as his eyes turn back to glance over the two in the grass. _It is a good thing his mother survived. That will be good for him._

oOo

It isn’t surprising to him that Valkyrie and Thor leave with the Asgardian refugees to help settle them into their new home. Thor makes it clear that he isn’t opposed to coming back to the compound every once and a while, but Tony gets the impression that their relationship will be more like it was when Thor would leave to go live on Asgard most of the time.

Of course, now he is a little closer, and they can contact him pretty much whenever they want, so it isn’t _completely_ the same.

From what he hears though, the settling process seems to be going well, and Frigga definitely seems to be helping Thor. From what Valkyrie reports, he is much more active than he used to be now.

And that is good, Tony is happy about that. But the base feels sort of…strange, without Thor and Valkyrie. There is an emptiness now that there wasn’t before, and there is a knot in his chest that he can’t quite seem to deal with when he thinks about it.

All around him, things are slowly improving. It is a relative term, of course, but Clint had found Cassie, and Nebula had gotten her repairs done, Rocket goes off all the time to help Carol in his ship, and Thor had found his family…and he still feels empty.

Things are getting better, but they are never going to be as good as they had been _before._

He finds himself digging into new projects. He starts up a program to make Pepper her own Iron suit, although why she would need that, he can’t say. That isn’t really the _point._

That project doesn’t distract him for long though, and he even resorts to pulling out the long-neglected files on time-travel again, just because he feels restless and melancholy at the idea of living the rest of his life on an Earth like _this._ If he had built a time-machine before all of this, if they had managed to stop Thanos…

Of course, ‘if’ doesn’t _matter,_ and he doesn’t even know what to do with his time-travel notes anymore. Even if he wanted to build a time-machine now, he has no idea where to _start_ from, He doesn’t know what theory of time-travel his alternate-self managed to work with, and he doesn’t have the resources to just mess around until he gets it right.

(And how long is he supposed to try and fail—wasting resources and getting his hopes up—before giving up? Even if he were to get a time-machine working, what then? Will it _work_ trying to do something _after_ the Dusting?)

After a few days of fruitless efforts, he sets the schematics aside again, his mood thoroughly grumpy as he forces himself out of his labs and up to his rooms where Pepper is waiting to go to bed.

“Rough day?” she asks as he crawls his way into the bed, and he just grunts in response. He burrows next to her in the blankets and hopes that tomorrow, he might be able to get himself out of this funk.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be what the universe has planned.

_He knows he is dreaming because he is back on Titan. The air is dusty and orange around him, and his steps echo loudly off the ruins as he walks forward, his eyes glancing off the twisted, crumbled remains of what was once majestic buildings._

_He isn’t in his suit. He doesn’t even have his nano-unit. Instead, he is walking in the casual clothes he usually wears around the lab, the faded label of a band t-shirt replacing the usual glow on his chest._

_He is cold, goosebumps raising on his arms even though there is no wind on the planet. He shivers and rubs his arms, glancing around in a vain attempt to see anything else besides the long-forgotten wreckage around him._

_He hears the sound of something scraping across stone, and his head darts up, his heart pounding a little harder as he darts his eyes around, trying to pinpoint the sound as it echoes through the ruins. His pace picks up, his own footsteps growing louder as he moves through the jagged piles of stone and metal. Someone else is here. Where—?_

_He rounds the corner of a dusty, sharp hunk of metal, and his eyes catch on the hunched figure of someone a few feet away. The man sits with his back to him, the familiar blues of his uniform—although dulled by the orange air of the planet—causing a spark of hope to rise up in his chest._

_“Steve!” he calls, moving forward, the chill of the air forgotten now that he has eyes on his friend. Steve doesn’t look up at his call, the man’s shoulders remaining slumped as he curls around something, the sounds of his heavy breaths suddenly reaching his ears as Tony draws nearer._

_And then he sees what Steve has in his arms._

_He stumbles to a halt, his eyes widening and his breath catching painfully in his throat as he recognises the familiar dark hair of Bucky. The man lies limply in Steve’s grasp, his eyes closed and his face slack._

Wait, _his mind tries to think for a second, because he knows this isn’t right. Bucky’s body shouldn’t be here, because his body is_ gone _, along with everyone else’s. But his dream doesn’t really seem inclined to care about that little factual oddity, and he is left to watch mutely as Steve clutches at Bucky, his hands white on his uniform as a muffled sob breaks out of his throat._

_Tony’s heart twists at the sound, and he stumbles back a step, his eyes wide and his breath tight in his lungs as he is confronted with Steve’s grief. His movement draws Steve’s attention though, and suddenly he is pinned by a red-eyed gaze, the man clutching at Bucky’s body almost protectively as he stares at him._

_“Why didn’t you stop him?” he asks, his voice thin and lost. It isn’t angry, it isn’t accusatory. Instead, it is broken and mournful, and that is almost worse. “Why—?” Steve chokes off and ducks his head away, and Tony swallows heavily, his heart in his throat as he stares at his friend._

_“I’m sorry,” he rasps out. “I’m sorry, I tried—”_

_He gets cut off by another noise, and although he doesn’t quite register it at first, his brain certainly does, and he finds himself whipping around, his eyes wide. He doesn't know what he is looking for, but his eyes dart around the ruins frantically as he searches. His heart pounds in his chest as his ears strain to hear the sound again because—_

_“Mr. Stark?”_

_He gasps at the sound of Peter’s voice, and he darts his head to the side trying to find the source, trying to find Peter. Except he can’t. He can’t find Peter—he can’t find where the voice is coming from because Peter is dead. Peter is gone and there isn’t even anything left—_

“Tony?”

He blinks and jerks awake with a start, Pepper laying next to him on the bed with a concerned look on her face. “Deep breaths,” she tells him, and he complies, sucking in air as he struggles to sit up. Pepper watches him carefully, but doesn’t touch him.

This isn’t new for them. He and Pepper had spent a long time with Judith working out the best ways for her to respond to his nightmares (neither of them want a repeat of the time he had summoned the Iron Man suit subconsciously, that had been a bad time for _many_ reasons.) Nowadays, if Pepper notices him having a nightmare, she will try to wake him the best she can without touching him, and then he will do his best to calm down again afterward.

He lets out a breath and runs a hand over his face, hunching his shoulders as he presses back against the headboard, his mind running through the bits and pieces he can remember from his dream. He probably shouldn’t be _surprised_ at its content, and he isn’t, not really, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, and he finds a restless energy filling his body the longer he sits in his bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Pepper asks as she eases back to sit next to him, and he shakes his head, sucking in another breath and dropping his hand.

“Not— not yet,” he gets out. “I think…I think I need to go for a walk first.”

Pepper nods at that, because the way his mind works isn’t surprising to her at this point. Once he has had a chance to get a change of scene, and shake out his nerves a little, he will come back, and maybe then he will talk about it, if he feels like it.

For now, he swings himself out of his bed, and shivers slightly at the new-found cold. He rubs at his arms and pauses long enough to grab a sweatshirt from the laundry hamper, before he ducks out of the room.

The rest of the apartment is dark, and he is grateful for that, since he doesn’t think he is prepared to confront real life in full light right now. He doesn’t stay in the apartment though. He needs to stretch his legs a little and get his head straight, so he steps out and begins to make his way down the hall towards the common room for some not-coffee.

The lights are off as he approaches, so that is probably why he doesn’t notice him right away. His mind is mostly focused on his own problems and the choice over what kind of not-coffee he will be having.

His brain isn’t _completely_ off-duty though, so a few feet into the common room, and about half-way to the kitchen, he registers the lump sitting in the dark in the living room, and he looks up.

He stops in his tracks, his eyes wide.

Steve is sitting curled up on the couch, an old pair of blue and grey slippers on his feet, and a blank look on his face as he stares out into the dark. He doesn’t look up, although Tony is sure he has heard him—serum-enhanced hearing and all—and Tony is left to stare at him, discomfort churning in his stomach.

He is distinctly aware that this is the most vulnerable he has seen Steve since he had come back to Earth, and, after his own nightmare, he doesn’t have to think hard to guess what could be going through Steve’s head at the moment.

He just…doesn’t know what to do about it.

No matter his progress with Judith, he still isn’t _great_ with emotions…but he has to admit that that has never really seemed to matter with Steve. He had done his best every time something had come up, and that had always seemed to be enough.

Will it be enough now?

He doesn’t know, but he will admit that he _wants_ it to be. He wants whatever wall that seems to be between him and Steve to come down, and he has an idea about what he is going to have to do in order to make that happen.

 _Step one,_ he thinks, as he looks at the couch. _Walk over and sit down._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Thor and Valkyrie get to reunite with the surviving Asgardians, Frigga included. While writing this, I was curious if there was a canon number of survivors, and it turns out that the Russos claimed there are around 1,200 refugees. So that is fun (:
> 
> Meanwhile, Tony navigates the persistent emotional difficulties of living post-Dusting. But, it looks like he and Steve will finally be sitting down together.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr:[16woodsequ](https://16woodsequ.tumblr.com/)
> 
> The Alternate Timeline [TVtropes](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/TheAlternateTimeline)


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